In The Company of Dragons
by Ridley C. James
Summary: There comes a time when everyone must fight, for love, for country, for family. And when the battle is upon them, the fortunate warrior finds himself in the company of mighty dragons.
1. Chapter 1

In The Company of Dragons

_By: Ridley_

Rating: T-for language and violence

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me. All those lovely men are property of Kripke Enterprise and The CW.

_A/N: This story is in The Brotherhood AU. You probably will need to have read Heroes and The Line before reading this one, as those two introduce some of the characters found in this story. This is a Mary Sue Free Zone, and Reviews are always welcomed, and greedily consumed. _

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"**Come not between the dragon and his wrath." -_William Shakespeare, King Lear_**

"Holy Fuck!" John Winchester ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair and then buried his face in his hands.

Jim Murphy sat at his side, both of them seated at the large mahogany conference table in the plush office suite. "I usually frown on such language, but in this case, I tend to share your sentiment, old friend." The pastor picked up one of the glossy black and white pictures spread out before them. "Not really your best side, I'm afraid."

John let his hands slide down so he could look at the frame to which Jim was referring. It was him, holding a .45, after having just used said .45 to put a bullet in a man's heart. A shape shifter. But still, in print, it looked like just another human being lying crumpled at his feet. John appeared to be the monster.

"Damn, Jim," Winchester picked up another picture. This one showed him and his twelve-year-old son, Dean, digging up a grave in the middle of a cemetery, in the dead of night. "How long has he been having us tailed?"

"And how didn't you realize it?" Jim shook his head. John Winchester was one of the best hunters he'd ever had the honor to know. The man had senses like a wolf, the reflexes of a cat. How someone had gotten that close to him and his family without his knowledge was more than a little scary and disturbing on several levels. The fact that copies of medical records, hotel receipts, and a paper trail a mile long accompanied the candid photos spoke well to the thoroughness that had went into the investigation into John's life.

"I never expected…"John hesitated, his throat tightening.

"You were expecting _Supernatural_ trouble," Jim said with an understanding sigh. "Not the human kind."

"Damn him!" John pounded his fist onto the table, frustration and anger threatening to overtake his forced calm. "What the hell does he want?"

"I'm guessing we are about to find out," Jim tilted his head towards the glass walls surrounding them. Several men were coming their way and he and John stood as the door to the office suddenly swung open and a striking, grey-haired gentleman entered the room, flanked by two hulks in dark suits.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

"What the hell is this, Cooper?"

The older man stepped forward, gesturing to the contents on the table. "I think I should be asking you that, Winchester."

"_This_," John glanced at the photos of his life, "is none of your damn business."

"I beg to differ."

"What are you doing here, now? I haven't heard from you in over seven years."

"I've come to claim what is rightfully mine."

Jim laid a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder, as he felt more than saw the other hunter tense. "Why don't you just tell us what you believe it is that John has of yours, Mr. Cooper."

"James Phineaus Murphy," the man smiled. "Unusual for a priest to associate with murderers. But then again, your hands aren't exactly clean either, are they? From what I understand you are the leader of this…_cult_."

"Cult?" The pastor's voice hardened. "We are no such thing, sir."

"Leave him out of this," John growled at Cooper. "This is between you and me."

"Oh, I don't see it that way. See, I have a collection of these." Again the man nodded to the scattered files. "You may not claim to be a cult, but you do have an odd variety of members in your _club. _I have a similar dossier on Father Murphy, or is it 'Pastor Jim'? I can't quite keep all the aliases straight."

"Then there is a young Joshua Sams. A Boone Jackson. And a Miss Missouri Mosley. But my absolute favorite is Doctor Mackland Ames-renowned surgeon and researcher. I must say I was more than shocked." Conner shook his head, sadly. "After all, I know his father. We've done business in the same circles."

Cooper picked up another folder, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Then there is that mongrel pup, that I understand Mackland shamelessly pulled out of one of his own psych wards. You're somewhat of a mentor to him, are you not? I believe he's in some of these photos with you." Cooper picked up a black and white, tossed it in front of John. "Caleb Reaves-heir to the Ames fortune. His grandfather bragged to me how the boy was top in his class in some fancy architectural engineering program. Am I to believe you're providing field study in these photos? Because the last I heard you were a grease mechanic." The businessman clucked. "It would be a shame for the world to find out just what all these nice friends of yours have been up to."

"What do you want?" John demanded, dread filling him from a dark place deep within.

"What all great and powerful men want, John." Cooper eyes glistening like sharply cut jade. "I want a legacy. Something to leave behind when I go to the great beyond. As I'm sure Mr. Murphy will tell you, we can't take it with us, after all. I want someone to carry on the Cooper name after I'm gone."

"Maybe Mac could find you another mongrel pup in one of his psych wards."

Cooper laughed. " Oh, John, I'm not as gullible or as stupid as Cullen Ames. I want someone from my own bloodline."

"Your only child is dead, Charles. You didn't even come to her funeral."

The businessman's face hardened. "My daughter made poor choices. The worst of which was marrying you. I let our hard feelings carry on too long. But that's in the past. I can do nothing to fix it now, but I can move forward."

"Your daughter was the finest person I knew, and you disowned her-broke her heart." John had to fight the urge to reach across the table and wipe the condescending look off of Cooper's face. "Your only chance of a family is dead-died with her."

"I don't think so." Charles picked up another photo. It appeared to be taken in a park, two young boys on a bench. John's boys. "My grandsons are still very much alive, despite the parenting skills you so obviously lack. I must say that the oldest one favors his mother, but I hear from reputable sources that he has your manner and temper. That's a shame."

"I'll ask you one more time, Charles. What the hell is your game? What do you want from all of this?"

Cooper dropped the picture back on the table. "It's simple really. I'm going to be amicable. I have enough damning evidence here and the contacts to put you away for good, destroy your friend's lives, take everything that you have." He glanced up at John and smiled. "But in honor of Mary, and the way she felt about you, I'll only take half."

"Half?" John's brow furrowed, his fist clenched. "What the hell are you talking about taking?"

"Not _what_, John." Charles Cooper leaned on the table, giving Winchester the same look he'd used to win countless negotiations in the cutthroat arena of business. "_Who_. I want my grandson. Mary's son. I want Samuel."

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"What'cha doing?" Sam Winchester leaned over the papers scattered on Pastor Jim's kitchen table and looked up at the older man studying them.

"Working," came the clipped reply.

"On what? Homework?"

Caleb Reaves snorted, and glanced at the seven-year-old, who was holding a jelly sandwich precariously over the psychic's hard-earned research. "I don't do homework, Sammy." The hunter pushed the little boy's hand away. "And if you don't mind could you take that gooey mess somewhere else?"

"Dean says I have to eat at the table," Sam resumed his position.

"Then how about the other side of the table?"

"Scout's eating there."

Sure enough the over-grown Lab puppy was sitting in the chair opposite of the hunter, front paws precariously placed on top of the table, lapping up what was left of Sam's Alphabet soup. "God, Sam!" Caleb raked a hand through his hair, "Put that mutt on the floor." He hadn't even noticed the animal, which was a usual fixture at Sam's side these days. "It's liable to spread rabies or something."

"You're not suppose to take the Lord's name in vain." Sam explained, as a big blob of grape jelly escaped his hand and landed in the middle of one of Reaves' plans. "And Scout's not a mutt. She's a Black Labrador Retriever . Finest hunting dogs ever!"

The twenty-year-old sighed, and raked a hand through his dark hair. "Where's your brother?"

"Outside finishing up the list of things Daddy told him to do while he and Pastor Jim were gone."

"Why don't you go find him?"

"He told me to stay inside, 'cause of my cold." As if to offer an example, the boy sniffled and wiped the back of his free-hand across his nose. "Daddy said I can't go out when it's raining until I'm better."

"Peachy." Caleb rubbed at his eyes, wondering how in the hell he'd gotten relegated to babysitter. He was tired and building up to one hell of a headache. But he was determined to figure out the next move in the current gig he and John were working on, if only he could get some peace and quiet. "Then why don't you and Scout go watch T.V., or draw, or work on the model bridge we started last night…or whatever it is you do when you're here?"

"Do you want to work on the bridge with me?"

The hunter sighed again, heavier this time. "Later. Why don't you and your four-pawed pal go do Lassie and Timmy stuff."

"We could take a bath?" Sam offered and Caleb shrugged, not even noticing the hopeful gleam lurking behind the green and brown flecked eyes.

"Whatever rocks your world, brat. Just stay out of my hair until Deuce comes back in."

The kid stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and shot off like a rocket, whistling for Scout who bounded from the table, after lapping the last _A_ and _O_ out of the bowl.

"Huh." Reaves watched him go, surprised that the nagging didn't persist as it usually did. "Who said babysitting was hard?"

"Where's Sammy?" Twelve-year-old Dean Winchester entered Jim's kitchen thirty minutes later, with a bang of the screen door, a soaking Atticus Finch close on his heels. It was pouring rain and he'd finished mucking out the horse stalls in time to bed the animals down for the night.

Caleb glanced up from his work with a frown, frustrated that he'd managed a mere half an hour of uninterrupted, Winchester and canine free, research. The Golden Retriever trotted over to his side, shook itself, pelting the older hunter with cold wet drops of rain water. "Jesus! Jim's going to kill you for letting that wet mutt in here."

"He lets you come in out of the weather, doesn't he?"

"Cute," Reaves smirked, trying to return to his work.

Dean stepped to the table where his brother's empty, abandoned soup bowl still sat. He tossed his wet jacket over the chair. "Is he in our room?"

"How should I know?" Reaves wiped the water marks from his papers, with a huff. "Follow the trail of jelly and destruction and you should find him and his furry partner in crime."

"You were suppose to be watching him." The boy's voice was accusatory and it grated on the tired hunter's nerves. He hadn't slept a whole night through in weeks, not since the latest nightmares began, and spending the last seven days holed up with the Winchesters hadn't helped matters in the least.

"That's your job, Deuce. Not mine. I'm not a baby-sitter."

"It's Dean. And you said you'd keep an eye on him while I was finishing up with the horses."

"I think I mumbled my acknowledgement that you were leaving the runt in my same vicinity. That's not the same thing."

"Dickhead," Dean muttered, starting out of the kitchen and into the hallway only to have Caleb call him back.

"He said something about a bath, ass wipe."

The teen stopped and gave the other man an incredulous glare that had nothing to do with the insult. "You let him take a bath? By himself?"

Reaves shrugged, shot the kid his most irksome smirk. "What was I suppose to do? Go in and guard his rubber duckey?"

"You're an idiot. You know that right?. How many seven-year-old boys do you know that volunteer to take a bath? In the summer?"

Reaves only frowned at him. The twenty-year-old didn't know any other kids, and the only other _seven-year-old_ that he'd dealt with besides Sam had been the sullen pre-teen now glaring at him. "Like Sammy's normal," he shrugged and went back to studying his notes.

Dean didn't waste his breath on a reply, but instead turned and made his way to Jim's bathroom. He'd deal with Caleb Reaves, hot shot hunter extraordinaire, later. He was patient, and had a whole bag of tricks up his sleeve that would be perfect to piss off the older man.

Sam didn't like baths. Everyone with half a brain knew that. And he sure didn't ask to take one when he wasn't in school, in the middle of the day. All in all, it spelled trouble. Unfortunately, trouble for Sam, spelled double trouble for Dean.

The blond's suspicions were confirmed when he reached his destination and found the door shut and locked. He could hear water running, and groaned to himself as he looked down and noticed a small puddle of water escaping from beneath the door. "Sam!" He shouted, banging on the solid oak wood separating him from his kid brother. "Open this door. Now!"

Atticus whined, shifting from paw to paw as if he too knew _his_ own young charge was up to no good.

Dean was about to shout again, when the door was flung open and he was greeted with a sight he would later love recanting to his brother's mortification every chance that he got.

Sam was dressed only in his swim trunks and was sporting his swim goggles and snorkel that he used when diving for pennies in the pool. His wet hair stuck up in odd angles everywhere and he had a sponge in one hand and a plastic sail boat in the other.

The teen sighed, looked over his brother's shoulder and noticed that the huge claw-footed antique tub that sat on the far side of the room was barely visible from the mass of bubbles filling it and seeping over it's sides to the wooden floor. "Sammy," he groaned. "What are you doing"?

"Scout and I are taking a bubble bath," the boy said as if it were a common place occurrence. "It's raining outside and we were bored."

About that time there was a bark and splashing erupted from the tub as Scout attempted to pull her small, soaking body from the water. Atticus barked and the little Black Labrador puppy yipped playfully as it flopped to the floor like a large, hairy fish. Sam giggled. "She keeps doing that."

Dean rolled his eyes. That explained the standing water in the floor. "Sam-you know you're not suppose to take a bath without telling me." A thousand worse case scenarios ran through the older Winchester's head, the least of which was Jim's bathroom ending up in total shambles. "You're not old enough."

Sam frowned as Scout shook herself and danced at the younger boy's feet. "I'm seven!" He said, indignantly. "I'll be in second grade!" He jabbed the sponge at his brother. "And Caleb said I could."

"You just turned seven last month, and Reaves is an idiot. He's not your boss."

"Neither are you!" Sam pointed out in a huff.

"I am when Dad's gone." The blond reached out for his brother, but Sam slipped from his grasp like a wet glass.

"I'm not done yet." Sam danced away, sliding on the wet floor, nearly falling before he made it back to the tub and practically did a cannon ball into the water. A wave lapped over the top, splashing more to the floor.

The twelve-year-old grimaced, almost fell as Scout scampered around his legs, barking in glee. She stood on her hind paws, forepaws on the tub's lip, waiting for her boy to re-surface from the bubbling depths, which he did with more splashing and a fountain of water spewing from his mouth. "Look, Dean, I'm a dolphin."

The older boy was sure if anyone as young as himself could have high blood pressure, then he was sure to fall victim to it. Because at that moment, he felt as if his head were about to explode and he was also sure that if the vanity mirror wasn't fogged with rivulets of condensation then it would have reflected his freakishly red face back to him. "You're something all right," the adolescent growled, clenching his fists.

He made his way to the tub and again reached for his brother who disappeared under the water. "SAM!" He shouted, turning to shut the water off before anymore of the liquid could escape to the floor. "Get out of the tub. Now!"

The seven-year-old sat up, sputtering, and glared at his brother. "Don't have to be hateful!"

Dean took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "Just get out of the tub, Sammy."

"But I'm not done."

The teen wasn't sure which was worse, the bratty tone or the whining one, but neither was doing much for Sam's chances to make it out of this mess unscathed. "I'll give you to the count of three."

"One…" Dean stood straighter, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared.

Sam took the boat and whirled it around the tub a few times.

"Two…" Dean drawled.

His brother didn't look at him as he slowly drew the sponge up one arm and then down the other.

"Three!" Dean growled and Sam stood up quickly, throwing his hands out in front of him.

"I'm getting out!" he shouted. "I'm getting out."

The blond smirked, triumphantly. "Good. I'll go get the mop so that you can clean this mess up."

He turned to go, started for the door, when something large, spongy and wet slapped him upside the back of the head, before falling to the floor with a splat. The twelve-year-old closed his eyes and counted to ten in Latin, so that it would take longer.

Dean could feel water dripping from his short hair down into his already damp shirt. When he finally regained enough composure he picked up the sponge, turned around and found three sets of liquid brown eyes watching him. Scout and Atticus now sat near the tub, conveniently in between he and Sam, who was now blinking innocently at his older brother "Sorry," the little boy shrugged. "It slipped."

"Slipped?" Dean shook his head, crossing back to his brother in two large steps. Atticus' tail thumped against the floor. "Just shot right out of your little fingers, huh?"

Sam nodded, a huge grin plastered on his face, dimples on full effect.

Dean looked from the sponge and then to his kid brother and did the only thing he could in the situation. He grabbed Sam by one arm and one leg, effectively lifting him off of his feet, before dunking him in the water.

The seven-year-old screamed, which elicited barking from both Atticus and Scout who danced around Dean's feet now, wanting to be included in this new human game.

He laughed and pulled his brother back out of the water, only to submerge him again, once he was sure the kid had taken a mouth full of air. "Look, you just slipped right out of my hands." The twelve -year-old said, dipping his brother under the bubbles again, trying to avoid his flailing free arm and leg that was splashing more water onto Dean, the dogs, and the floor. "Too bad you're so slippery."

"Stop," Sam gasped, but he was laughing, and Dean splashed his brother under again.

"Say the magic words."

"Dean Mathew Winchester! What the hell is going on?"

Those weren't exactly the words that Dean had been fishing for, but his father's angry voice did the trick just fine, and he let go of his brother immediately.

"Hey, Dad." Dean backed away from the tub and a sputtering Sam, nearly tripping over Scout, who was tugging at the cuffs of his jeans. "I was just giving Sammy a bath."

"Oh my," Jim said as he entered the small room to see what all the commotion was about. "I see you've included Scout and Atticus in all the fun." He put his hands on his hips. "Well those dogs did need a good scrubbing."

"God damn it, Dean! You know better than this."

"John," Jim said softly, trying to derail the locomotive before it could gather much steam. "Why don't you…"

"I can't leave you boys alone for a few hours without you screwing something up!"

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam, who'd grown quiet and then back to his father who was looking angrier than he'd seen him in a very long time. "Dad…it's just some water. I'll clean it up…"

"Damn straight you will, Dean!" Even as he said it, John knew it wasn't his son he was truly angry with, but he'd been denied the much-desired confrontation with Charles. "Then you'll clean the kitchen, and the hallway, and then the barn."

"But I already…"

"Don't back talk me!" John snapped, taking a step forward raising his hand before he even registered the move.

Dean instinctively flinched and stepped in front of his brother, as Jim caught the other hunter's arm. "John," he said with warning. "Stop this!"

The hunter turned and glared at the priest, but some of the anger seemed to fade from his face and his threatening posture deflated. Raking both hands through his hair, he took a heaving breath before he faced his boys again. "Get your brother out of there and dry him off. Then both of you clean up this damn room."

Dean nodded, just as Caleb came stopped in the doorway. "Whoa. What happened in here?"

"Maybe I should be asking you that!" John snapped, his dark gaze landing on the younger man, like a heat-seeking missile zeroing in on its next target. "Where the hell were you?"

"Sitting on his ass," Dean muttered, only to receive a glare not only from the young psychic, but Jim as well.

" I was researching the damn hunt like you so sweetly suggested I do before you hightailed your ass out of here, Winchester. I'm not your fucking nanny!"

"Caleb!" Jim snapped, and the hunter rolled his eyes. "Like they've not heard _that_ word before living with _him_." He pointed accusingly at John.

"It's not to be used in my home."

"You better redeliver that particular sermon to Aqua man over there again." He pointed to Dean. "Because he uses it quite frequently."

"Shut-up!" the blond snarled.

"You shut-up," Reaves shot back, sounding much closer to twelve than he did twenty.

"All of you shut-up!" Jim's sharp voice had all eyes on him. "Enough of this shouting and bickering." Atticus whined and laid down, glancing guiltily up at his master, as Scout popped her feet back up on the tub for Sam to pull her in. Jim sighed. "We're all tired. It's been a long day. I say we call it a night. Start fresh in the morning."

"But it's not even dark yet," Sam bravely pointed out, only to have his brother turn on him. "And it's summer time," he added, meekly, despite the warning glare.

The pastor's face softened. "And if we are to be at the lake when the fish wake up, my boy, you'll be wanting to turn in now."

"Okay," Sam shrugged, with a put upon sigh.

"Clean this damn mess up first, Dean," John snapped again, pointing a finger at his oldest son.

"Yes, sir."

John stalked out and Jim glanced at Reaves. "I think it would be very nice if you helped the boys, Caleb."

"I didn't make the mess." The hunter stated, defiantly, his green eyes flashing.

Jim raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest, and the younger man sighed. "Fine. I'll go get the freakin' mop."

The priest grinned. "That a boy." He moved past him with a slight pat on his shoulder, and Reaves turned fierce eyes on the two younger boys once he was gone.

"This is all your fault, Deuce."

"My fault? You're the one who told him he could take a bath." The teen gestured to the mess, "Why not just give him the keys to your jeep and have him run into town for a six pack?"

"Don't lay a guilt trip on me." The older hunter shook his head, long bangs falling across his face. "He's _your_ little brother! Not mine."

"That's obvious," Dean snorted. "No horns. No tail. And he's not allowed to play with pitchforks."

Caleb shook his head, his eyes darkening, defined jaw clenching. "Fucking brats," he growled, turning to go. He didn't need a bunch of kids screwing around with things, especially when he had enough dead kids fucking up his head at the moment.

Before he got two steps, something soft and wet slapped against the back of his neck, soaking the ends of his hair that fell just above his collar. He stopped in his tracks as he heard a snicker from Dean.

He whirled around, surprised that his _attacker_ was now glaring defiantly at him. "Pastor Jim doesn't like it when you say that," Sam huffed.

"Why you little…" Reaves started forward, but Dean darted between him and the seven-year-old.

"Don't even think about it."

Caleb stopped in front of Dean, looking down at the boy, who barely came to his chin. The kid had begun to fill out, was all muscle from the hours of daily training that John required of him, and he was quick as a cat. But Reaves still had a good seven inches on him, and at least fifty pounds. It would be a slaughter. "You honestly think you could stop me?"

"If I had to."

The two stared at each other for a moment and then a slight hint of a dimple appeared at the left corner of Caleb's mouth. "You are so full of shit, kid." What the adolescent lacked in brawn, he sure the hell made up for in bravado.

Dean's cocky stance and challenging glare continued, until the older hunter finally shook his head and pointed a finger at Sam. "I owe you, runt. Big brother won't always be around."

"Whatever, jerk," Sam sniped, knowing the threat was all bluff.

Dean grinned and Caleb growled deep in his throat. "I really hate kids."

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	2. Chapter 2

In the Company of Dragons

By: Ridley

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the awesome reviews on the first chapter. I am now worried that I may disappoint. This story just keeps growing. I'm done through Chapter 6, and am only at best half way through. I will try to post Chapter 3 this weekend, but definitely no later than next Tuesday. Posts will hopefully never be longer than a week in between-knock on wood. _

"_**It never does to leave a live Dragon out of the equation." -The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien**_

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"One of these days you're going to pick a battle that I can't help you win," Dean pointed out, helping Sam out of the tub once Caleb was gone. "You really shouldn't piss-off people bigger than you, little brother-and especially not ones bigger than me."

"Nah," the little boy shivered as air met his wet skin. "You're like Athewm. You'll always save me," he stated, confidently.

The blond rolled his eyes at his brother's comparison.

Athewm was a dragon from one of Pastor Jim's '_made-up'_ stories. It didn't take Dean long to figure out he wasn't just _like_ Athewm, but he _was_ Athewm. Athewm, was Mathew, his middle name, slightly rearranged, and in Jim's story he was an emerald green, guardian dragon-Prince Samuel's protector.

There were other familiar characters, too. Take Belac, for instance. A powerful red dragon forged in the fires of the Underworld, who despite his dark lineage had sworn allegiance to the Prince. Among Belac's many talents was his ability to read minds. Big mystery who that was.

Then, Cam, an intelligent blue dragon that could heal people with the touch of his claws. Of course, there was Astorim, a silver, wand-wielding, dragon, the oldest of all the beasts. And last but not least, there was Oh'Nathan Jay, a fierce black dragon who protected the kingdom where Prince Samuel lived.

Jim had told Sam the tale for years, expanding it as time went by, even buying his little brother small plastic dragons that went along with the story. Dean had to admit he liked it too, when he was a kid. But now he barely listened when Sam would beg the pastor to regale him before bedtime. After all, he was practically an adult. But half-grown or not, Caleb was still a whole heck of a lot bigger. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure Athewm could take Belac if it came down to it."

The little boy frowned. "Why would Athewm and Belac fight each other? They both protect the Prince."

The younger Winchester shook his head. "Maybe the Prince did something really stupid to Belac-like dousing him in the moat. You know how fire dragons hate water."

Sam grinned, mischievously. "That would be funny." He lifted his arms as his brother dried the rest of him. "Now. Scout," the little boy said, pointing down to the puppy, who was busy chewing on the plastic sail boat.

"Sammy," Dean sighed, "give me a break." But even as he complained, he squatted down and rubbed the little Lab with the towel, until she was barely damp.

Jim had gotten the puppy for Sam's birthday, even though they weren't allowed to have pets. The priest swore to their father the dog wasn't a _present_, just a purchase at convenient timing. After all, Atticus was getting along in years, and the priest hoped having a young pup to look after might liven him up a bit. Jim said it worked well enough for him, and John couldn't argue with that logic.

Caleb entered the bathroom, mop and bucket banging behind him. He looked at Sam, then glanced around to all the mess. "Next time take the mutt to the pond, kid."

"She's not a mutt," the boy said indignantly. "She's a Labrador Retriever!" Sam explained again, to which Reaves only rolled his eyes.

"I don't care if she's Eukanuba Dog of the Year. Just keep her on a leash, and out of my bed, if you don't mind." Scout had mysteriously found her way into Caleb's room the day before, even though he had shut and locked the door. "I don't need her panting in my ear. I have an alarm clock to wake me up, thank you very much."

"And here I didn't think you'd kick any bitch out of your bed." Dean smirked, letting the water out of the tub. "Especially one that would get close enough to pant in your ear, Damien."

Reaves smirked. "Nice, Deuce."

"She's not a …" Sam frowned at his brother. "_That_ word."

"It means female dog, Sammy." Dean defended innocently.

"You didn't mean it that way."

"He's too smart for you already, kid. " The psychic snorted, swabbing the floor with a wicked grin on his face. "By the time he's your age, you won't even be able to carry on a conversation. You'll have to lug around a dictionary, maybe even hire an interpreter."

"Shut up," Dean growled, slinging a wet towel towards the older man. "Like you're a freakin' Rhodes Scholar."

Reaves easily caught it, and raised a brow before he twirled it a round a few times. "Smart enough not to give the enemy a weapon." Dimple and white teeth flashing in a devilish grin, he snapped it out like a whip towards the blond.

The wet material popped, missing Dean by inches. "Hey!" he yelped, as Sam laughed, and Scout barked, delighted the fun had started back once more.

"I bet that would have hurt," the seven-year-old said, backing up, so he was behind Caleb, who was advancing on his brother again.

"Traitor." Dean glared at him, and tried to dash out of the way as the dark-haired hunter aimed the towel at him again.

It barely missed as he dodged out of the way. "Moving a little slow there, Deuce," Reaves chided. " I'm amazed you were able to hustle it to home plate at all this season."

"You don't need to run when you can hit the ball like me," Dean boasted, and once again attempted to duck away from Caleb. Unfortunately, the floor was still soaked and he slipped in a puddle of water nearly crashing into the washstand as his feet slid out from beneath him.

Reaves' quick reflexes saved him and the glass pitcher on top of the vanity. "Yeah, you're so smooth, graceful."

The teen started to snap off a suggestion Jim would not have been happy with, when Reaves took a sharp intake of breath and suddenly released him. "Damn it," the psychic growled, bringing a fisted hand up to the center of his forehead. "Not again."

An explosion of light flashed behind the psychic's tightly closed eyelids and he felt his legs buckle before he could even reach out for anything to catch himself. His knees struck the hardwood floor, the shockwave that rocked through his spine and back was nothing compared to the cataclysmic quake rumbling in his head. The pain was blinding. It stole his breath like a vicious punch to the solar-plexus, making him wonder if this would be the time his skull might actually shatter against the pressure.

He heard his name through the agony, mostly because Sam was obviously shouting it in his ear. The frightened sound of it mingled badly with the roar of the rushing blood as it coursed through his veins like an angry, flood-swollen creek.

Reaves couldn't stop the strangled gasp that was torn from his throat as he curled into himself, wrestling with his instinct to fight, to resist what was happening. Six years of having visions and he still had a hard time 'letting' them come, as Mac had coached him. Although he'd gotten better at it, giving up control wasn't something that would ever come natural to him.

But something about this vision was different. More intense. More painful.

It was like the two others he'd experienced in the past few weeks. The ones that had accompanied the nightmares that had worried him enough to call Mac, who had in turn insisted he call John.

Caleb felt consciousness slipping from him, just as the horror movie started playing.

_He was in a park, standing near a swing set. The sun was setting in the distance, the night air cool on his skin._

_The location was different, but the set-up was the same. Whomever he was connecting with this time was in big trouble- if his previous visions were any indication._

_Victims were his curse, for they drew him in. But the perspective with which he viewed his visions had always been more about the monster behind the melee. He saw what was happening through the perpetrator's eyes-feeling, and experiencing every nuance. Reaves supposed it was his demonic nature mixing with his abilities in one fucked up way, fate's attempt at piddling on his shoes._

_But this time he could feel the most recent victim's heartbeat speed up. His breathing became shallow and forced as he realized he wasn't alone. The false illusion of safety was shattered with the snapping of a twig, with the crunching of leaves beneath a heavy foot. The darkness became smothering, painful. Then the monster was there. _

_Reaves felt the fear as if it were his own. The child turned, cried out, and started to run into the darkened forest, but the threat was faster. It reacted quickly, stealthily making its way towards the kid-a young boy. The psychic wasn't sure how he knew the age or sex of the victim, but he did. Even the name-Ian._

_Despite the control Caleb uselessly tried to exert over the body he was mentally trapped in, the little boy stumbled, fell to his knees, and couldn't recover before..._

_Mercifully, it was over quick. The viciousness so brutal it didn't take long for the job to be finished. Still, the psychic felt each blow as if he were physically there. Felt the bones snap, heard the rushing of blood as if it were in his own head. And then the oxygen was cut off by a crushing grip, and his own lungs felt ready to explode… _

_As the last breath of life left the child's body, Reaves felt his own chest constrict. His lungs burned hot, like the tears that streaked from the boy's cheek to land on the killer's hands._

_The psychic looked up through the sightless eyes as the child's body was dropped unceremoniously to the cold ground. Through the black spots dancing before him, he barely made out the flash of gold . The ring was fuzzy still, but the symbol was clearer than it had been in the nightmares. A twisted type of cross, with a letter emblazoned over it, Celtic-looking, but not quite like anything Reaves had seen. _

_Then it was all gone as quickly as it had come. No rolling credits, no blooper reel-just all encompassing pain…then blackness. And the dreaded feeling of falling away into the dark abyss with no safety net below. _

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He came to with a gasp, his weak muscles sending him back to the mattress almost as soon as he had jack-knifed into a sitting position. "Shit," he muttered, weakly, reaching a hand up to rub at his aching, burning throat.

"Take it easy," a voice whispered and Caleb's head whipped to the side. He was more than surprised to see Mackland Ames' concerned face, shadowed in the faint light coming from the small table-side lamp.

"Hey," the young hunter croaked, searching the rest of his surroundings for any indication of where he might be, and how exactly he got there.

"Hey yourself." Mac grinned, reached out and took Caleb's hand, placing his fingers along the psychic's wrist.

Reaves frowned, but didn't pull away. "What are you doing?"

"Taking your pulse."

Caleb rolled his eyes, licked his dry lips. "I mean…what are you doing here?"

The young hunter realized he was in his room at Jim's, the one he'd stayed in since he was a teenager when visiting the priest. Like Dean and Sam, he'd spent plenty of summers at the old farm, especially when Mac had still been a practicing surgeon. "John called me."

Reaves groaned, instantly pissed that Winchester would drag his adoptive father all the way to Jim's because of a stupid vision. "What? To tattle because I wasn't being a good little boy?" The hunter closed his eyes, took a deep breath to push away the last of the pain. "God, I'm twenty years old. I don't have to listen to him anymore."

Mac snorted. "Like you have ever listened to anyone, Caleb Reaves. Although John has come closer than most." When his son peeled only one eye open to glare at him, the doctor's face softened. "And he didn't call to report back on you. He called because you weren't breathing."

"What?" The other gold-flecked eye shot open and the hunter once again tried to shove himself to a seated position. Although his sore ribs protested, he was able to make it this time. "What do you mean I wasn't breathing?"

"I mean," Mac sighed, rubbed a finger over his eyebrow, "that whatever happened in your latest vision triggered some sort of seizure and you stopped breathing." The doctor's gray eyes darkened. "Thank God it was only for a minute, and you spontaneously started back on your own, but still…you scared everyone."

"Shit," Reaves mumbled again, dragging his hand over his face, across his mouth. The little boy in the vision had stopped breathing-had he been _that_ connected? He recalled vividly the feeling of suffocating. "Holy shit."

"My sentiments exactly. You want to tell me what happened? It was a vision?"

"Yeah…a vision about a murder." Caleb rubbed at his temples. " I was cleaning up the bathroom, and then…" The psychic paused, trying to recollect exactly what he was doing when the vision was triggered. It all seemed foggy-as if it had happened a lifetime ago.

"Yes, you were with the boys," Ames added, hoping to spark more memory.

"Sammy?" Caleb suddenly remembered the youngest Winchester calling his name.

Mac nodded to the pillow beside of Caleb, where several ten-inch, plastic dragons stood watch. "He was quite concerned. Dean convinced him that his dragon friends would provide sentry while he was asleep. John ordered them to bed a few hours ago, though much protesting ensued."

"Damn. How long have I been out?"

"Over five hours." Mac looked at the clock. "Luckily I was near by."

Reaves glanced away from the other man then, feeling slightly guilty Mac had been pulled away from his research. He reached over and picked up one of Sam's dragons to avoid the doctor's pointed gaze. "The runt must have thought I was going to die." He observed, with a quick quirk of his lip. He held up the shiny, green beast. "This is Athewm- his favorite one."

"Ah yes, Prince Samuel's guardian."

Caleb chuckled, shook his head despite the fiery pain it stoked. "Is it weird that we know this?"

"No, considering we have all, at one time or another, been conned into playing with that castle."

"It's a Gothed-out Barbie Dream Home," Reaves pointed out. "Jim got it at a charity sale at the church. Made me paint it years ago."

Mac smiled. "If I'm not mistaken, you and Dean added the bridge and moat yourselves."

The younger man shrugged, brushing off the implication he had gotten in to the project. "What's a castle without a moat and a draw bridge?"

"Indeed."

The dark-haired hunter tossed the toy back with the others. "So, he and Deuce are okay?"

"As I said, they were concerned. Rightfully so." Mac's brow furrowed. "To be such amazingly brave boys, they frighten easy when it comes to their circle of influence. I think they have a heightened sense of danger-an ingrained fear of losing those close to them."

The hunter quirked his brow at the psych terms, and Mac smiled. "All the Winchesters happen to have that same affliction. Perhaps I should do a case study."

"Like John would go for being one of your lab rats."

"Speaking of John…he only left a few moments ago. Although he claimed he was anxious for you to awake mostly because of your current job. He was quite overcome with concern."

Reaves snorted. "Right, Dad. He's gone all warm-fuzzy on me. I'm surprised he didn't try and get you to pump me full of adrenaline, or maybe mind-meld with me to get access to that last little show."

The doctor frowned, not quite sure if his son was kidding, or if he really believed John Winchester didn't give a damn whether he lived or died. He hoped it was the former and not the latter. John was many things, but cold and heartless was not one of them. Especially where Caleb was concerned. "He said you've been having nightmares."

"I told you that when I called."

"Yes, but John said they were bad-very bad."

"Great." The psychic palmed his eyes. "Jim needs to insulate this damn place. The walls are like paper."

"You could have called me. Perhaps Bobby could dig up a protection symbol to ward off whatever connection you're making this time."

"Look, I'm a big boy. And the nightmares didn't get bad until I got here. Besides John shouldn't have called you."

"I would have been angry if he hadn't, and this incident with your abilities…well, it wasn't the only reason he called." Ames tilted his head. "And what do you mean they didn't get bad until you got _here_?"

A wave of anxiety washed over Caleb. He winced as his battered mind suddenly processed the emotions rolling off the other man. "What's wrong? Why are you worried?" He pushed himself up against the headboard. "You're never worried."

Mac waved the questions away. "It's something we can discuss in the morning, but about…"

The dark haired hunter's frown deepened, his brow furrowed. "What about Dean and Sam?"

Mac raised a brow. "You're reading _me_?"

Reaves sighed, frustrated the older man sounded surprised- almost amused. The very way John often sounded when Caleb challenged him to a game of pool, or a sparring session. "Something about John and the boys…"

Now the doctor frowned, as he watched his son rub at his temples. "You're hiding it," Reaves hissed, still pushing to find the source of the fear he'd felt from his father.

"Son," Ames reached a hand out, laid it on the hunter's arm. "What's this about? Is it this job?"

"Don't patronize me." Caleb pulled away, not sure why he was suddenly moving past irritated, right into full blown pissed. "What's going on with John? Why are you worried about the boys?"

"Keep your voice down." Mac moved his gaze to the adjoining door on the far wall. Dean and Sam's room lay just beyond it. "As you said, these walls are practically porous. You don't want to wake them."

Reaves reached out, touched each boy's mind, content they were still safe asleep. He refused to be swayed by his father's concerned gaze. Not only was he more than curious as to what Mac was blocking, he was anxious for a distraction-any distraction-to erase the lingering images of what he'd just witnessed. But he did lower his voice. "Fine. I'll ask him myself."

The young psychic shoved at the blanket covering him, and stood quickly. Ames reached out a hand to steady him as he wavered. The stubborn kid turned away, starting for the door that led to the hallway. "But you haven't told me what happened…" The doctor sighed, raking his fingers through his salt and peppered hair before following after his son. "Of course it's not like you've ever listened to me before."

"What's going on, Johnny?" Caleb demanded as soon as he entered the bright and way too cheerful kitchen. For not the first time, he cursed the day Jim chose to paint the room sunshine yellow. Even in the dead of night it glowed with a welcoming aura.

The priest and Winchester were sitting at the table, papers and files spread out before them. They both looked up when the dark haired hunter stumbled in. A mixture of concern and relief reflected on their tired faces. But Reaves didn't miss the quick glance they shared or the bottle of Jose sitting in front of John.

He was right. Something was definitely up.

"My boy, you're back with us?" Jim stood motioning to a chair. "Why don't you sit down?"

Caleb frowned, rubbed at his throat again, but didn't reply, nor did he move from the doorway.

"That was Jim's way of saying you look like shit," John said, but the words didn't ring with their usual gruffness, nor were they slurred, which was a good thing. Winchester was damn contrary when he was drunk. "Now sit down, goddamnit. Because I ain't carrying your heavy ass twice in one day."

Reaves huffed out a breath, but did as the older man requested. He watched silently as his father entered the room, poured himself a cup of coffee and joined them at the table. "He okay?" John asked Mac, not bothering to address the subject of his concern.

"He's awake." Mac smiled over the rim of the mug. "That's always a good sign in the medical field. The fact that he's irritable, oppositional and uncooperative is also positive."

"Seeing as how that's his normal state." John agreed, rubbing at his eyes.

"You're concern is touching," Caleb growled.

"They were both very worried." Jim piped up, going to the refrigerator to retrieve a pitcher of iced tea-his elixir to cure anything that ailed. "We all were." He added with a wink, as he filled a glass for Caleb. He gave it to the young psychic before reclaiming his seat. "But, are you sure you shouldn't still be in bed?"

Reaves took a drink of the sweet liquid and glared at him. "Is that the nice way of saying you want me to leave the grown-up table?"

"Caleb," Mac warned.

The Pastor raised a brow. "No, that's my way of saying I'm worried about you."

"I'm not a kid, Jim."

Murphy folded his hand on the table, glanced down at the silver ring on his right hand. To him they all seemed like children. "Sorry, but finding you unconscious and not breathing on my bathroom floor has left me rather unsettled and concerned for your health. By all means, though, do stay. Push yourself to exhaustion. I won't think anything else of it. After all, as you have pointed out, you are an adult."

Reaves groaned, rolled his eyes. Nobody did guilt like Jim Murphy. Who needed a mother, when they had the Pastor. "I'm fine." He lied. "It was just a vision."

"Same as the others?" John asked, hesitantly.

Caleb nodded. A sudden sense of letting the man down washed over him as his gaze met Winchester's. "It was another kid. A little boy. But I didn't get much more on the crazy." He had the urge to say he was sorry, though he wasn't quite sure why. Caleb took another swallow of Jim's ice tea, instead.

"Damn it!" John pounded his fist on the table. "What the fuck else can go wrong?"

"Daddy?" As if on cue, Sam entered the room, rubbing his eyes, yawning. Scout was trotting behind him, a crumpled pair of socks grasped between her teeth. "What's wrong?"

Winchester grunted, lifted his eyes heavenward, in a 'you've got to be kidding me' gesture.

"Sammy, why are you up?"

The little boy shrugged making his way around the table, coming to stand beside Caleb, leaning against the psychic's chair. "I was thirsty." He glanced up at Reaves. "Are you better now?"

Some of Reaves apprehension seemed to evaporate as Sam's shoulder brushed against his. He reached out and ruffled the sleep-tousled mop of hair before he could stop himself. "Are you kidding? Nothing hurts me, runt. I'm invincible."

"You were thrashing around on the floor like the fish do when we pull them out of the water." The kid must have took the rare physical contact and smile as an invitation. He climbed up in the chair with Reaves, planting himself on the hunter's knee. Scout whined and attempted to do the same by placing her big puppy-paws on the psychic's leg. Sam leaned back against the hunter's broad chest and yawned again. "Your lips were blue."

Reaves sent a quick desperate look to his father, who suddenly found his coffee much more interesting to look at. But Caleb didn't miss the hint of amusement that flashed through his gray eyes. It was the same look that was plastered on Murphy's grinning face.

John was the only one who seemed at least a little sympathetic. "Sammy, leave Caleb alone and go back to bed. He's still breathing. No harm, no foul." Okay, so maybe 'sympathetic' wasn't the right word.

"Brain cells die when people don't get oxygen. And they don't ever come back." Sam told him, before glancing back up at Reaves. "That's why people aren't suppose to hold their breaths too long."

"Thanks for pointing that out, Tiny Einstein."

The little boy frowned. "Dean was worried when I told him that. He said you couldn't afford to lose brain cells. That you were close to being a vegetable already."

"Oh did he, now?" Caleb growled.

Mac hid his laugh behind a cough. "I assure you Samuel, that Caleb is quite fine. Your father's right. There was no lingering damage."

Sam stared up at Reaves again. "Was it because I hit you with the sponge?"

"What?" The psychic's brow furrowed, trying to process the shift in conversation.

"Dean promised it wasn't, but sometimes when Dad gets hit on the head he goes to sleep like you did. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Sammy…" Caleb sighed, feeling a wealth of emotions all at once, and oddly unsure of what to say. "Trust me. It had nothing to do with you, kiddo." _Thank God. _"It was a vision." About some other little boy, that had no connection to them. "That's all. I promise."

"The movie in your head?" he asked, his earnest concern once again taking another sucker punch at Caleb.

"Yeah. The movie in my head."

Sam twisted his fingers in the sleeve of the flannel shirt the twenty-year-old was wearing. "It was a scary one? Like that one with Freddy Krueger that we watched?"

Before Reaves could answer, incriminating himself for letting the boys watch Nightmare on Elm Street, John was on his feet. He lifted his son up and into his own arms in one practiced scoop. "Enough Q&A, Tiger. Caleb's tired, and so are you. You're going back to bed."

"But I just woke up," the kid protested around another yawn.

"I'll take him," Caleb heard himself saying, as his legs seemed to move him to standing on their on volition.

No one was more surprised than Reaves, himself, when he bent down and picked up the Lab puppy, hefting her up in one arm. John quirked a brow as the psychic stood back up and the younger hunter shrugged. "Hey, I have a bone to pick with his brother," he explained. "No brain cells to spare, my ass," he grumbled as he turned his back to the Winchesters. "Hop on, runt."

The seven-year-old didn't hesitate as he practically leaped onto Caleb's back. His hands clasping across the hunter's neck, gangly legs latching around the psychic's waist in the well-practiced piggy-back carry. "Giddy-up," Sam whooped, and Reaves groaned as the loud voice echoed in his brain, rattling around the overloaded synaptic pathways.

"Keep it to the inside voice, Cowboy," he said, glaring at his father and Murphy, who were still yet to say anything. But they were looking at him like he, Scout and Sam were on the cover of some sappy Hallmark card. All they needed now was a Christmas tree twinkling in the background, and Dean to join them wearing a freakin' Santa hat. _God. _They were turning into the Brady Bunch. He hoped to hell this didn't give Murphy any ideas about a group portrait.

"No stories! No pit-stops! Straight to sleep. I mean it." John's thundering voice thankfully broke the spell. Caleb was for once eternally grateful for his well-timed Scrooginess.

"And re-salt the door and around the bed." Okay, that was more like it. The Munsters he could live with.

"And here I was thinking we'd hit the bar for a night cap-couple tequila shots and he'd go out like a light," Reaves told him, with a smirk. "But I guess that can wait a few years."

"Bed!" John pointed towards the hallway, when his youngest son laughed.

"And the same goes for you." Mac echoed, his slight smile not having the same effect. But Caleb still felt chafed by it. He **_was _**being banished from the big boy table, goddamnit. Something big was going on.

"I mean it, son," the doctor added, obviously interpreting the reaction. "You need to rest. We can discuss all of this later."

"Fine," Reaves hefted Scout higher and she dropped her socks, or rather Dean's socks, to deliver a sloppy lick right across his mouth. "We know when we're not wanted." Besides, Caleb would just read Jim tomorrow-find all the answers they weren't willing to share with him. The man was like an open book.

"They're grumpy," Sam said in a softer voice as they left the room.

"That's what happens when you get old, kiddo."

"I heard that," Murphy called after them, but only a little boy's giggle echoed back to them.

John sighed, wearily sank back down in his chair once they were gone-out of earshot. He buried his face in his hands. "I can't lose him, damn it!" he said softly. "This is my worst nightmare."

Mac and Jim shared a quick look, before Ames spoke. "We'll fix it, Jonathan."

The seasoned hunter looked up at the doctor. "How the hell do you propose we do that, Mackland? The man has us dead to rights. You willing to give up your career? Your freedom?" He shook his head. "You want Caleb to go to jail? Or worse, to some lab to be studied? They'll hunt down everyone we care about. We'll all be put away. Then the boys will be at his mercy, anyway. "

"That won't happen. Conner doesn't understand all the workings of the Brotherhood."

"But he knows a lot," Jim chimed in, rubbing his silver mustache. "Too much for an outsider. I have a feeling he may know even more than he let on and that means only one thing."

Ames frowned. "You believe he has an inside source? One of our own?"

Murphy nodded. He and John had already discussed the possibility, decided it was the only plausible theory. "I fear so."

"And that's exactly why I don't have a goddamn choice but to do what the sonofabitch wants." John pounded the table. He looked at Mac again, but this time all anger fled, replaced by complete helplessness. Fear. "I'm going to lose my son, Mac. God help me. I don't think I can do this again."

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_A super thanks to Tidia, who is an awesome Beta. She tries to reel my wordiness in-bless her heart. Reviews are so appreciated. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Concerning dragons-with time and patience, it is possible to build up a bond of trust.-Dragonology _

Sam grinned wildly as he reeled in the tiny squirming blue gill. "That's ten!" He shouted to his brother who was on the other side of the pond. "I'm ahead of you now."

"It doesn't count if you keep catching the same one over and over again," Dean hollered back.

Jim smiled as he caught the floundering amphibian the seven-year-old swung in his direction. "And just how does he know it's the same one?" he asked, winking at Sam as he gently removed the hook from the fish's bottom lip.

"He doesn't look like the same one." Sam pointed to a row of scales. "I think he has more blue."

"I agree. Definitely not the same one as last time." Scout barked and jumped out into the water as Murphy tossed the fish back.

"Aren't we going to keep any to eat for dinner tonight?" Sam asked, watching the puppy floundering through the water in a vain attempt to retrieve their catch.

"That one wasn't big enough, my boy."

The kid frowned. "He was big enough for a fish stick. All ten of them were. We could have had as many as comes in a frozen pack."

The pastor chuckled. "How about we stick to hotdogs, instead. Besides-you want to save some fish to catch later on, right? I'm afraid it would deplete the pond's reserve to feed our motley crew."

"Okay." Sam nodded. "But, can we make the hotdogs over a fire? Like last time?"

Jim raised a brow and looked at the child as if he had just sprouted a second head. "Is there any other way to prepare them?"

The grin widened, dimples deepened. "I love you, Pastor Jim."

Usually the words put a slight skip in the older man's heart, tightened his chest a little, maybe even caused his eyes to sting. But today the ring of innocence was like a bucket of cold pond water tossed onto his overheated skin. He roughly cleared his throat. "I love you too, my boy."

A small hand found his and Sam was tugging him up the bank towards the big shade tree where they'd left their things. "We'll need marshmallows, too."

"Of course." Jim acquiesced, realizing that at that moment Sam could have asked for the moon and the big preacher would have attempted to retrieve it from the night sky.

"And Graham crackers… and chocolate bars."

"Sammy, what are you going on about?" Dean asked, catching up with the two as they collapsed on the grass beneath the tree. Atticus situated himself on the ground beside the older boy, and Scout viciously attacked the twelve-year child's dangling shoe laces.

"We're going to cook over a campfire tonight." He cast a hopeful look towards Jim. "And maybe even sleep in the tent."

"Dad won't go for that, kiddo. You still have a cold."

"Do not." Sam sniffed. "Besides, it's hot outside. Hotter than in the house."

"He does have a point there."

"Hey, I'm not the one you have to convince." Dean raised his hands. "Talk to the guy with the permanent scowl."

Jim nudged the younger boy with his shoulder. "We'll work on him."

The twelve-year-old glanced at the priest. "Will Dad and Caleb be hunting tonight?"

"I'm not sure."

"What are they working on, anyway?" Even Reaves had been tightlipped about this particular hunt. He was usually the first to spill the details anytime Dean wasn't allowed to come along. Whether it was bragging rights, or just his way of rubbing it in the younger boy's face, the twelve-year-old wasn't sure, but he hadn't tried to torment Dean over the current hunt. "Is it another werewolf? Or a banshee?"

"The moon's not right for wolves," Sam answered and both his brother and Jim looked at him.

The little boy just grinned. "I read Mac's books about them. He explained the Lunar cycle to me."

"Freak," Dean muttered, turning back to Jim who was still staring at his little brother in wonderment. "So…"

Murphy cleared his throat. "I believe it is something much more vile. Something best left to older hunters, I'm afraid." He patted Dean's shoulder, gave him his most winning smile, the one that always reminded Dean of Santa Clause for some reason. "Not young whippersnappers like you and me."

"But you're _the _oldest hunter, Pastor Jim."

Dean snorted at his brother's comment and the priest shot him a mocking-warning glare.

"You make me sound like that Crypt-keeper fellow your brother likes to watch on TV , Samuel."

"You're the oldest person I know."

"So it would seem." Murphy's frown morphed into another grin. "But I prefer the term weathered or wise."

"How 'bout ancient artifact?" Dean offered. "Or antique?"

"How about we talk about something else." Jim raised one silver brow, and both boys shared a knowing smile.

"Our camp-out?" Sam suggested.

"We could wait until Dad and Caleb leave for the hunt," the older boy said with a casual shrug. "I mean, you are in charge when Dad's not around Pastor Jim."

"Ahh." Murphy rubbed at his chin. "The old 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission' tactic, huh?"

The adolescent shrugged. "He's going to yell either way."

Jim chuckled. "True enough, my boy. True enough."

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"Damn it, Caleb!" John yelled. "Either you think it's a spirit or you don't."

"Sorry if I'm not filling all the blank spaces quick enough for you, Vanna White, but the visions don't always work that way." The younger hunter snapped back, rubbing at his temples. It was too early in the morning for his usual rounds with John, especially after the night he'd had.

"Maybe all the shouting is making it harder to focus?" Mac offered from behind the daily newspaper. Without looking, he could feel the twin gazes turn in his direction. He was surprised the paper didn't start to smolder. "Honestly, I don't see how the two of you ever get anything accomplished," he mumbled.

"We have a system," John defended.

"It works," Caleb added.

"Of course it does." The doctor turned a page, continued to scan the print of the business section. "Although, I think some civility wouldn't hurt."

John snorted. "Yeah, _manners_, that's what we need in our line of work. I don't recall that attribute ever being taught in the military."

Caleb looked at him. "Courtesy I can live without. Honesty would be nice though."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you expect me to come clean about everything, Winchester. Spill all details. What about you?"

"I'm sorry. But the last time I checked, I didn't have an inside line to the bastard behind the disappearances."

Caleb frowned. "I'm not talking about the hunt."

John pointed a finger at him. "But you should be. Lives are at stake. Childrens' lives."

"Believe me, I know. I've seen what's happening."

The older hunter rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to release some of the knots of tension that were winding tighter with every passing minute. "Just not enough to know if the killer is human or not?"

"I've never had visions about anything not related to the supernatural."

"There's a first time for everything."

"He's right," Mac interjected, thoughtfully. He put his paper down. "Your abilities could be progressing. It might be something we want to look closer at."

"Don't get any ideas, Freud." Reaves shook his head. "This isn't about my abilities. These freakin' visions or whatever they are, don't feel the same. I can't explain it. It's not like the usual gig." For one, he'd ended up being the equivalent to a telepathic punching bag.

"Then maybe this bastard is human-just one sick bastard."

"Maybe." The psychic looked at John. "But the ring. . . It's important. I know it is. That's one thing that's coming across loud and clear."

Mac rubbed his chin. "The symbol you've been researching?"

"Yeah. Without any luck."

The Doctor frowned. "Bobby wasn't able to find anything on it?"

"No, but until last night, I haven't been able to get a very clear fix on it. I just knew it was cross-like. We thought it could be cult-related. Like those crazy sonsofbitches we ran across in Fairbanks who were summoning the succubus demon."

"Are the killings ritualistic or sacrificial in nature?"

"We're not sure. The children have merely disappeared. Until Caleb had the first nightmare and recognized the little boy's picture, we weren't sure what was happening to them." John ran a hand over his beard. "The last two kids vanished from the outskirts of Seattle. One three months ago, and another a couple of weeks ago."

"The vision I had last night…it was a strangling. The first one was a beating." Reaves rubbed at his eyes. "Whatever it is, it's strong, and vicious."

Mac thought for a moment. "Did you sense that the attacker was excited? Or angry?"

His son looked at him. "How the hell should I know?"

The older man's face softened. "Son, your visions are usually sensory in nature, and you connect with the attacker, more so than the victim."

"Exactly." Caleb nodded. "Because of the supernatural aspect. That's what you always said. My fucked up DNA makes me a kindred soul to anything evil."

"That's not what I said," Mac's voice hardened. "You are nothing like the things you hunt."

John interrupted the stare down. "So, you think the thing is some kind of spirit, or maybe a human possessed by a demon."

"I don't know!" Caleb shouted. "I didn't _sense_ anything from _him_. The only thing I was feeling was sick and …" He faltered, frowned.

"And?" Mac raised a brow.

Reaves sighed, looked down at the table. "Scared. I felt scared for the kid."

"That's what you meant by different?" Ames postulated. "You don't usually empathize with the victim in the visions."

Empathize was a very weak word for what had happened. "Right." Caleb glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the older hunter understood what Mac was saying.

Reaves' visions were horrible, terrifying, and made more so by the fact that in the moment they were happening, Caleb was neither horrified nor terrified. He was captive to the act in every possible way, including whatever sense of pleasure the perpetrator was experiencing.

If he were honest with himself, it was one of the reasons he became so obsessed with a hunt when his psychic abilities were involved. He wasn't only killing the monster, he was killing any part of himself that might be linked with the very darkness he had taken an oath to destroy.

"But you still didn't see the thing?"

The psychic turned on Winchester. "I was a little busy trying to escape, and then I was tied up with the whole being beaten and strangled deal."

"You mean you were _watching_ the escape and death?" Mac questioned, sharply, waited for his son to meet his gaze. "In a third person sense? Right?"

"Leave it, Mac!" Caleb growled. "God! Both of you are impossible."

He pushed his chair back and stood. "I'm going to the library to do some more research."

"No." John shook his head and stood also. "I need you to stay here with the boys."

"Not happening, Johnny." Reaves shook his head. "I told you yesterday. I'm not your fucking nanny. They can stay with Jim."

"Jim is going into town with us," Mac explained.

"Am I not on this hunt anymore?" His green eyes searched John's face. "I've done all the research…and I'm the one who called you in the first place. What can Mac and Jim do that I can't?"

"This is not about the hunt, kid," John sighed. "You can call Bobby again while we're gone, now that you have a better image of that cross he might be able to find something..."

Reaves looked between the two men. "What the hell is going on?" When neither replied, the young hunter shook his head. "Since when do you let anything interfere with a hunt? You're the one who pointed out that lives were in danger. You were completely obsessed with this until you got that phone call yesterday."

"It's not your concern."

"Are you kidding me? I'm the one with the ring-side seat for each show. If you're not into saving some kids, just tell me and I'll do this one on my own."

"I'm trying to save my kids, Caleb!" John snapped and had his hands wrapped in the boy's shirt before he could stop him self. He shook him. "_My _kids, damn it!"

"Johnathan," Mac said softly as he stood. He took a step towards the two hunters and Winchester released the younger man with a shove. He raked his fingers through his dark hair.

"Dad?" Caleb felt his heart quicken, an unfamiliar feeling of dread swept through him.

"He needs to know, John. He _is_ a part of this, whether you wish him to be or not. Conner ensured that, I'm afraid."

"A part of what?" Reaves questioned. "**What** am I a part of?"

"None of you should be a part of this!" Winchester bit out. "This is my family. My problem."

"The Brotherhood says differently," Mac countered.

"The Brotherhood is part of the reason I'm going to lose my son."

"You know that's not true…" Mac started in again but Caleb interrupted him.

"Lose your son?" Reaves had the irrational desire to find Sam and Dean at that very moment. His eyes unconsciously went to the kitchen window, as if he could see past the trees and fields to catch sight of the pond. Where vision failed, his sixth sense excelled. A sense of contentment-joy-washed over him. No fear. No pain. They were safe. "What does that mean?"

"It means that…" John hesitated, finally meeting the younger man's gaze. "It means that I'm going to have to give Sammy up to his grandfather."

"What?" Caleb shook his head, held up his hands in confusion. "Wait…_you_ have a father?"

The older hunter rolled his eyes. "Yes, genius, but it's not my father. It's Mary's father. He wants custody."

"And did you tell him to go fuck himself?"

"Among other choice words."

"Then did you kick his ass?"

"Unfortunately, son, your and John's special brand of mediation skills doesn't always work. Especially with the rich and powerful."

"I don't understand."

Winchester looked away. "Conner has me over a barrel."

"A barrel! This is Sam you're talking about. You've taken out werewolves, wendigos, and poltergeists. You're going to cave to some Donald Trump wannabe?"

Mac rested a hand on his son's arm, but the twenty-year-old stepped away from him.

"Son, you don't know what Charles Conner has planned."

"I know he's not a fucking match for the Brotherhood." He looked at John, didn't say what he was thinking. There was no way some old man was a match for John Winchester, money or not. "You can't let this happen."

"You think I want this to happen?" John exploded. "The man is a cold-hearted bastard. Mary was a fucking miracle. She turned out the way she did mostly because of her mother and the fact that she spent so much time in boarding schools away from that man's influence. You think I want my sweet, trusting, little boy in his hands?"

Caleb didn't blink. "Then we'll take him out."

"Caleb Thomas Reaves!" Mac snapped, bringing both hunters' gazes to him. "You will not speak of killing a human being. Do you hear me?"

Reaves shook his head. "He's no better than the things we hunt."

"You will not put the end before the means." Ames stepped forward, gave John a withering look as if he had spoken the words to the other hunter instead of his son.

"You both will let me handle this from my end. Is that understood? We will explore every avenue to block Mr. Conner by playing his own game, but we will not resort to treachery, or sully the hard work that generations of hunters before us died to accomplish."

He looked to Reaves. "The Brotherhood is about protecting the innocent. We do not punish the guilty, nor do we take matters into our own hands when feel we are at a perilous junction with our backs against the wall. We will do this my way."

"Said like a true Scholar," John sniped. "But things don't always fall in a damn rulebook."

Mac's face twisted in anger. "And not all things can be handled with a sword and a bad attitude."

"So, you're going to lecture him to death, instead?" Caleb rolled his eyes, hiding the slight amusement he always felt when his father got on a tangent. He looked at John. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Johnny."

"Yeah, your daddy is a sharp-tongued bandit."

"Don't encourage him," Mac growled, glaring once more at Winchester. "You have already had far too much influence in his education."

"Hey, I'm not the one that trusted me to baby sit all those times when you were off cracking skulls open."

"I never needed a babysitter." Reaves protested. He had always looked at his times staying with the Winchesters as training sessions-educational field trips.

Mac smiled knowingly at his old friend. "Just remember those words when one of your own children ends up smart-mouthed and incorrigible." He nodded to Reaves. "Good nannies are just as hard to come by these days."

The young, dark-haired hunter sighed. "I'm not a fucking nanny."

"No." John glanced at him, his expression serious once more. "But I know you can protect my boys. I trust you. After all, as Mac pointed out, I trained you myself."

Caleb faltered, not quite sure what to comeback with. Praise from Winchester was rare and often very subtle. For just a moment he was tempted to whisper 'Cristo'. "This your way of trying to butter me up, Jar Head? What next? Hearts and flowers?"

The older hunter snorted, ducked his head, and rubbed at the back of his neck again. "But damn if you aren't a smart-ass." He glanced back up. "How about I just give you ten dollars, like the good old days?"

"Twenty-five and you have a deal." Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "Inflation you know, and I am a starving college student now."

"Fifteen," John countered. "Sam's out of diapers. There's not that much to it anymore."

Reaves laughed. "Have you met your sons? Dean reeks of testosterone. I should charge you fifty."

"Twenty… and you make sure they eat, and stay out of the fucking bathroom."

The psychic nodded. "Done."

"See?" Mac grinned, slapped a hand on each man's back. "Civility. Compromise. It all has its place in the grand scheme of things." The doctor started for the hallway. "I'll make a few calls, Johnathan, and then we'll head into the city to see Bart."

Winchester nodded, watching him go, before turning back to Caleb. "He thinks he can fix this with the law and by throwing money at it."

"It's the Ames way," Caleb said. He'd only been a part of the Ames family for seven years, but he'd learned that first rule immediately.

John sighed. "I hope to hell he's right, and this does work." He swallowed thickly. "If not…I'll lose them both."

Caleb knew what he meant. John hadn't mentioned Dean, and the younger hunter didn't know the details of what this Conner had in mind, or what he'd used against John to gain the upper hand. But if Sam was lost to them, then his brother would be, too. At least the part of Dean that made him _Dean. _That wasn't an option.

"I assume Mac's talking about Bart Cameron?"

John nodded.

"He's one of the top criminal lawyers in the country. He and Mac went to college together. They were in the same Fraternity." The words didn't ring with the confidence Caleb had planned. Instead, they sounded hollow.

"I've heard his name before." John ran a hand over his mouth, taking the offering for what it was worth. "But this kind of war isn't fought in a courtroom. You know that."

Caleb Reaves did know that, and he also knew in that moment his father's fears were founded. He and John were cut from the same cloth in more respects than Mackland Ames would ever be comfortable with. "Jungle warfare."

John nodded, cleared his throat. He pointed a finger at Caleb, as if he were suddenly the mind reader. "But that doesn't mean that _you're_ going to be in the trenches. Get my drift, private?"

When the younger man rolled his eyes, John continued. "I mean it, Caleb. This is my fight."

"But I've got your back. That's how it works."

"It works the way I say it works." Winchester put his hands on his hips. "You're not to get involved in this, except for watching Dean and Sam. That's an order."

"An order?"

"Right. An _order. _It falls under the rules of command. That thing where someone in charge tells you what to do and you do it, without talking trash. _I'm _in charge."

"Never heard tell of it."

John tilted his head, gave the other hunter a look, and Reaves relented. "All right. I'll be a good soldier, sir."

Winchester sighed, motioned to the papers on the table. "Just keep your nose in the current hunt. I need to go tell the boys bye."

"Give them that speech on following orders while you're at it, why don't you?" Caleb called after him. "Make sure they know who's in charge while you're gone."

The ex-marine shook his head. "Why don't you all look it up in that huge dictionary your dad bought Sammy? Write the definition fifty or so times. It might actually soak in that way."

"Homework duty will cost you an extra ten dollars, Winchester."

"Add it to my tab, Junior."

Reaves watched him go, heading in the direction that would take him out onto the screened in porch. A wave of fear crashed into Caleb as he let his guard down momentarily, like releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The room crackled with built-up tension, sending chills up the young psychic's arms. Hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, and his stomach twisted in reaction. The twenty-year-old clenched his fist, closed his eyes for a moment, before taking in a shaky breath, erecting his defenses once more.

His gaze went to the kitchen window again. He wasn't going to let some rich man mess with the Brotherhood. Screw with John and hurt Dean and Sam.

Fuck a bunch of orders and lectures. _He'd_ fix it. If not by the Ames way, goddamnit… then by the Hunter's way.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSSNSNS

A/N: Thanks for being patient with me guys. We are getting to major Dean and Sam parts. This is a story about **them**-trust me. As a reviewer pointed out, they will always be the main focus of the story. I'm just getting us there. Their ages in this one makes it imperative that I leave them in the dark about some things in the beginning. Homicidal beatings of young children and a grandfather bent on destroying their family are two things I believe John would try to shield his children from. Although in the end, they will end up right in the midst of things, I'm afraid. Thank you for all your kind reviews. They mean so much and keep me persevering on this monster. And super big thanks to Tidia- who always has excellent suggestions that get me thinking... and she cuts off all those run on sentences.- Ridley


	4. Chapter 4

**_"Do not trifle with dragons, for you are small and crunchy and taste good with ketchup."  
--author unknown _**

"Is this the kind of bridge you're building at school?" Sam held the glue as Caleb carefully locked the next piece of the model into place. They were spread out in the middle of the parlor floor, the seven-year-old sprawled on his belly, Scout curled close to his side, sound asleep.

The dark haired hunter sat cross-legged, his bottom lip held precariously between his teeth as he released the newly bonded crossbeam. Reaves blew out a breath, dislodging his long bangs that had fallen across his eyes, and glanced at the seven-year-old. He smiled. "Kind of, squirt."

"You're building the Golden Gate Bridge at school?" Dean looked up from the movie he was watching from his perch on the couch and snorted skeptically. "And here I thought you were in the special classes."

"I'm gifted," Sam announced, proudly, as he handed Reaves the next beam. "I go to special classes sometimes. There's nothing wrong with that. "

"Actually," Caleb pointedly ignored the older Winchester, taking the next piece from Sam, "At school, I'm recreating a very scaled down version of the Tower Bridge….. it's a famous bridge in London. I saw it there last year."

"Is it the one that falls down? Like the song?" Sam asked and Dean snorted again.

"If Caleb built it, then it will definitely fall down, kiddo."

"Do you hear something, Sammy?" Caleb asked, as he locked the newest piece in place. "Sounds like old Clemens got into the fescue again." Clemens was Jim's donkey and he was as loud as he was cantankerous.

Sam giggled. "Yep, lots of braying."

"Yeah, sure sounds like a real ass."

"You guys are _so_ funny."

Before Reaves or Sam could reply, the phone in the kitchen rang. The psychic quickly pushed himself up from the floor. "No building without the engineer." Caleb pointed a finger at Sam.

"But I'm the architect," the little boy huffed, watching the psychic go.

"You're a geek is what you are," Dean said, sitting up and stretching. "A geek who needs to get ready for bed."

"But I thought we were sleeping outside? And we haven't even cooked hotdogs yet."

The blond rolled his eyes. "Have you talked to your comedy partner about that, Costello?" Dean nodded towards the hallway, where Caleb's hushed voice could barely be heard coming from the kitchen. "He hates to camp."

"He'll do it," Sam said confidently, rolling over onto his back, watching Scout's paws move in a running motion as she slept.

"And what makes you so sure?"

"I just know," the little boy explained with a shrug. Dean had a sinking suspicion his brother was quite aware of the power he wielded, growing more cognizant of it every day.

"That was your dad," Caleb said, coming back into the room. "They're on their way home."

"Then we have to hurry." Sam sat up, startling Scout out of her bunny-chasing dreams. She yawned and crawled into the kid's lap, with an unhappy grunt.

"To do what?" Reaves looked from the youngest Winchester to his blond brother.

"Eat dinner." Dean offered. "You were supposed to feed us, you know."

"You ate."

"Mayonnaise on crackers does not count as actual food."

"Didn't stop you from sucking them in, now did it?"

"Hotdogs," Sam shouted. "Over the fire."

"Who said?" Caleb planted his hands on his hips.

"Pastor Jim said." The seven year old stood up, dragging his pup up with him. "We're camping at the pond."

The psychic watched the boys' faces. "Jim didn't tell me that. And neither did your dad."

"Since when does Dad tell you what to do?" Dean joined his brother. "I thought you were a big boy now?"

"Don't manipulate me, Deuce."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Please, Caleb?" Sam asked, sweetly. "Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Caleb shook his head at the _master _manipulator. "Alright." The dark haired hunter held up his hands. It wasn't entirely unusual for him to cave, but it usually took more cajoling and sometimes a shedding of tears.

However after the previous night's events and John's information sharing earlier in the day, he felt even more beholding to the youngest of their clan. Still… he had an image to maintain. "But if I so much as get my ass chewed over this, you two are going down. Hard."

"Down where?" Sam asked, and Dean laughed.

Reaves sighed. "Never mind." He looked at the older boy. "You two grab the food, and I'll go down to the cellar and get the tent. Let's get things set up while there's still some daylight left." He waited for the twelve year old to nod and then started for the hallway.

"Told ya," Sam said softly once Caleb was out of earshot.

Dean frowned, watching the psychic's retreating form as he made his way towards the basement door. Something was definitely off.

First, Caleb had read Sam a story the night before after bringing him to bed piggy-back style, then he'd quit researching early to work on the bridge with his duly appointed 'architect', and now he was agreeing to camp-_outside_. The adolescent was tempted to toss some holy water on him just to be safe.

"Let's go." Sam was tugging on his arm now, interrupting his train of thought. "Daddy will be home soon."

"I better not take the blame for this one, little brother," Dean mumbled as they made their way into the kitchen. "If Dad blows a gasket again tonight, then you're dealing with it without me."

"Sure." Sam grinned, placing Scout on the floor and grabbing the wicker picnic basket that always sat near the table. He opened the refrigerator and began to dig, the black Lab nosing right along with him.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's apparent lack of concern. He went about gathering the rest of things they would need for the night, including Sam's jacket and his cold medicine. When they were done, Caleb had not returned from the cellar, so the boys ventured out on to the porch to collect Atticus, and the lanterns Jim hung there.

The sun was setting just beyond the rolling hills and the sky was cast in that odd shade caught somewhere between orange and not quite red. Sam swung the picnic basket back and forth, as he watched a family of ants travel across the railing with minute pieces of bread crumbs donned on their hardworking backs.

"Did you know ants can carry twenty times their body weight?" He asked his brother, and Dean shook his head, turning back to the sunset. Sometimes he just didn't understand where his brother came from. "That would be like you carrying Dad and Pastor Jim and maybe even Caleb on your back."

"But a magnifying glass and the sun can take them out like that." Dean snapped his fingers and let his hand hover precariously over the band of insects. "Or…"

"Don't!" Sam grabbed his arm, frowning at the other boy's obvious intentions to wipe out the whole family. "I mean it, Dean!"

"And how are you going to stop me, oh great defender of the arachnid."

"They aren't arachnids!" Sam retorted. "They're arthropods. They have segmented bodies and six legs."

"But they're still really easy to smash." Dean taunted, bringing his hand down again, despite his brother's death grip.

"Dean! I'll tell!"

Dean laughed, jerking his arm free just as they heard a car turn into the long gravel drive. "There's Dad now. You can squeal all you want about me trying to murder the helpless insects."

"That's not Dad." Sam pointed. "It's a limousine, like famous people drive."

The older boy turned, holding his hand up to block the sun as he peered in the direction of the twisting drive. His brother was right. A long black car swiftly approached them, thick, yellow dust billowing behind it.

"Does Pastor Jim know somebody rich?" Sam asked, bending down to pick up Scout as Atticus began to bark, and prance about.

Dean shrugged, his face scrunching in concentration as he tried to see through the darkened glass. "Could be somebody Mac knows. Maybe his old man? He had a limo that time in New York."

Both boys stepped from the porch as the car came to a stop in the drive near Caleb's Jeep and Jim's old pick-up. Sam started to move closer, but Dean reached out a hand and stopped him. "Wait."

The driver's door of the car opened and a man in a dark uniform exited. He didn't acknowledge the boys or the barking dog as he walked around and opened the back door. Two men piled out, also dressed in dark suits.

Dean took a reflexive step back, pushing his brother behind him. The men were huge, reminding the pre-teen of the men you'd see as 'protection' on the Godfather movies.

"Maybe it is a movie star?" Sam whispered in awe as the door was held for someone else to exit the vehicle.

Before Dean could reply he was betting on Scarface, an older man stepped out. Atticus continued to bark furiously, his hair standing up along the ridge of his back. Despite the fact the most the big baby would do was to probably lick the strangers to death, Dean felt better knowing he at least sounded vicious.

"Hello there," the newest man called out, taking a small step towards them.

Dean took another step back, shoving Sam behind him once more. He eyed the man, warily.

The guy was at least six feet, tanned, with silvery-blond hair, mustache, and neatly trimmed beard, which was peppered with subtle streaks of a darker gray. His friendly smile and genial speech did nothing to put the well-trained adolescent at ease. "You must be Dean and Samuel Winchester?"

Atticus lunged forward and Dean reached down to grab his collar as the man took another step towards them. "Who are you?" the twelve-year-old snapped, not liking the idea the man knew their names.

"I'm Charles. I'm a friend of your father's."

"What's the pass word then?" Sam asked, stepping from behind his brother, only to have Dean grab his arm.

"Shut up, Sam." He ordered, to which Sam's lip puffed out in defiance.

"We're not suppose to talk to strangers without the safe word, Dean."

"Your brother's right." Charles conceded with a slightly amused laugh. "Perhaps I should talk to someone else. That is, if anyone is home?" His light eyes flicked towards the farm house behind them.

"We're not alone." Dean quickly assured the man, inching closer back towards the house, pulling Atticus with him.

"That's good." The man nodded, "then can I speak with your father?"

Dean feared his brother would speak up again, telling the man John wasn't there, but he didn't have a chance as the screen door banged and the dangerous voice of Caleb Reaves echoed around them instead. "Who the hell are you?"

The psychic was by their side before Dean could turn around to face him. The twelve-year-old suddenly found himself being pushed into the background as the older hunter stepped in front of him and ordered Atticus to sit, and shut-up.

"I'm Charles Conner."

Caleb and the newcomer appraised each other, before Reaves glanced down to Dean. "You two okay?"

"We're fine," Dean harrumphed, torn between being annoyed at the hunter for treating _him _like a little kid, and grateful he was there-standing between this potential threat and his little brother.

"And you are?"

Caleb looked up at the man as if he had just beamed down from a hovering mother ship. "I'm the man asking the questions."

The two suits who had held back near the car now strode up to flank Conner, like well-trained pit bulls sensing the threat the psychic represented. "I see."

"Take your brother in the house, Dean," Reaves said, quietly, as he watched the men step slightly in front of their boss.

"That won't be necessary," Conner said, motioning for his bodyguards to hold back. "There's no threat to the boys here, Mr. Reaves."

"Really?" If Caleb was shocked the man knew his name, he didn't show it.

"Yes. I actually came to see them. If you'll get John out here. He'll explain."

"That won't be happening."

"And why not?"

"Did you miss the part where I said I was the only one asking the questions? All that money and you can't afford a hearing aid?"

Conner's smile faded. "You are exactly what I imagined, young Caleb. All that money and you still lack manners and good breeding. Of course, your Grandfather's money can't really buy those, now can it?"

"This is private property. You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving until I talk with Dean and Samuel."

"Why do you want to talk to us?" The twelve-year-old stepped from around the psychic.

"Deuce…" Caleb growled, catching his shoulder before he could get past him. "Go in the house. Now."

"I'm not leaving you alone with them." The kid jutted his chin towards the bulking men.

"Brave and loyal. Two qualities I admire in a young man." Charles spoke, thoughtfully. "And I must say, you do look so much like your mother."

Dean's eyes shot up at that comment. Caleb felt his muscles tense beneath the grip he had on his shoulder. He glared up at Conner. "Don't talk to him. Neither of them."

"You knew our mom?" Sam asked once again evading his brother's protection. He held Scout closer to him, the little puppy wiggling in anticipation to check out the new humans.

"Go. In. The. House." Caleb bit out, between clenched teeth and both Winchesters looked up at him. The older hunter often snapped at them and bickered with them, but rarely did he take the tone his words held now. Unless they were on a hunt, Dean thought, and only when there was danger present.

The blond reassessed Conner. He seemed harmless. Dean could have taken him out, himself. The muscle was a different story. Probably well-trained and packing, but they'd be no match for Reaves. Even without a gun or blade, the psychic was lethal in hand to hand. Then there were his abilities. But, if these were merely humans, there would be rules where that was concerned. Still…

"Come on, Sammy." Dean finally decided it was best to do as Caleb had ordered them. He took hold of his brother's arm.

"She was my daughter."

That stopped them both. Through the slight buzz in his ears, the oldest Winchester heard Reaves's muttered 'fucking bastard' under his breath.

"That's not true!" Dean snapped, his grip automatically tightening on Sam, who was now looking at the stranger with a familiar hint of awe. "Her family is dead."

"Get the hell out of here now before I call the police," Caleb threatened, "or worse."

"Do call the police." Charles took his eyes from the boys, leveled them on the psychic. "I'd love to explain about your exploits. Tell them all about the Brotherhood. What might they find if they did a search of Pastor Jim's home? How many bodies are buried around the perimeter of this old place?"

So that was it. Caleb snorted. "You have no idea what your messing with Conner."

"Oh, but I think I do. And I don't think I want my grandson involved."

The use of the singular didn't go unnoticed by Dean or Reaves. "There's two of us, and we're not anything to you."

Reaves took a chance and removed his eyes from Charles. He squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Just go in the house." The word _please_ didn't pass his lips, but the blond was almost certain he heard it echoed in his thoughts, along with an order to go into the secret passage in the library. '_Lock the door, Deuce. Don't come out, no matter what, not without the password.'_

Dean hesitated. Even when Reaves squeezed his arm painfully, letting him know the words were not imagined. _'Run.'_

Caleb had read Charles' thoughts. The man knew that John was gone. He knew who the young hunter was, that he was alone with the children and had no intention of leaving, not without Sam. He had official papers. His goons were packing. They were ready to make sure the boy was removed. But Reaves wasn't about to let that happen.

Sam had grown quiet, shrinking back after Caleb had telepathically told him the man was dangerous-to follow his brother's lead. The boys had played the secret communication game before. Usually during hunts or some other scenario where the psychic's abilities could garner them some sort of advantage, like when they played Goldfish or Poker for Oreos. John frowned on it, especially with Sam, but desperate situations called for forbidden measures.

"Samuel should stay here," Charles spoke, decisively. "He'll be accompanying me for the first of many visits."

"No," Sam and Dean spoke at the same time. Atticus began barking again as if he could sense the building tension…the fear from the boys.

"That's not going to happen," Caleb growled, again silently ordering both boys to retreat.

He barely had time to register the goons were moving closer when Charles was reaching for Sam. On instinct, he grabbed the man's wrist, used his momentum to twist him around, so he was now brandishing him like a shield in front of his body.

It was a tried and true maneuver, one that should have worked. One that _would_ have worked if Charles hadn't brought his hands up to try and remove the psychic's arm from his neck.

His fingers wrapped around Reaves' muscled forearm, and the setting sun reflected on the shiny gold cuff-lengths he was wearing. The sparkle was just enough to bring Caleb's eyes to one of them, and the oddly ornate cross etched there.

A burst of intense pain exploded in his skull, a blinding array of laser-like beams of colors flashed on and off. He couldn't help the gasp of pain. Dean said his name, the fear-laced tone tugging at him to hold on-to fight what he knew was coming. But it was too late. The vision had taken hold.

He felt his knees give way. _Not now. _His heavier and taller frame crumpled into Conner, bringing them both to the ground.

The Winchesters called out to him as he went down. He heard Atticus' furious barking and felt the gravel kicked up by the bodyguards moving in as it bit into his skin. But his grip failed, and Charles was free.

A disconnected part of Reaves' brain tried to kick in, knew instinctively he should be in a defensive posture, should have been readying himself for physical combat, but his psychic mind had other ideas. He was on his hands and knees, trying to stay conscious, when he felt the first sharp blow to his side.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, as King Kong and his buddy, Godzilla, advanced on Reaves. The twelve-year-old had recognized the signs of the impending vision, having witnessed the pained look on Caleb's face only the night before. Dean didn't understand everything about the psychic's abilities, but he did know they left him vulnerable. And this was not the time they could afford to be in a weak position. He watched helplessly as the men completely ignored him.

The big ape stopped long enough to pull the Winchester's self-professed grandfather up from the ground as his slightly larger and uglier friend viciously landed a kick to the defenseless psychic.

Atticus rounded on the struggling men, snapping, growling, trying to defend his family, missing teeth and arthritic hips be damned, as the stormy melee intensified around them.

The vision was so consuming, Caleb now barely heard the barking dog and the shouting. He felt the first blow to his ribs as if from some drug-dulled haze. Still, the force of the action stole his breath, and flipped him over on his back, where he was looking up into the bright sun-a looming body hovering above him.

He wasn't sure if it was the monster he had been dreaming about or one of Conner's goons until he saw the hands coming for his throat just before the scene morphed into inky night, the light becoming mere pinpricks of glowing planets.

There was the sense of danger and then came the intense child-like terror welling up inside of him followed by the second-hand pain as the little boy he was connecting with was struck repeatedly. The viciousness of what was taking place inside of his mind instantly overshadowed the trauma his physical self was experiencing concurrently.

Hands were around his neck now…squeezing. _God. _He couldn't move…couldn't breathe. And then the familiar darkness started creeping into his peripheral vision, slowly covering the bright flashes of color exploding around him. Just as he felt the little boy's neck give way, he thought he heard Sam scream, and then blackness took him out of both scenarios.

Dean didn't think, he merely moved. Launched himself onto the back of the goon that was viciously stomping Caleb, between kicking out at Atticus.

He jerked the thug's neck hard enough for him to stumble back a few feet from Reaves' prone form. Unfortunately, he didn't have a tight enough grip though, and soon found himself face-down on the dirt as he was thrown from Godzilla's back with a force similar to the time he had the brilliant idea to ride Clemens bareback.

Sam screamed his name. He was afraid his little brother was actually going to try the same stupid move he had, but then the Conner guy was shouting, too, and moving towards them.

"Don't hurt the children!" He ordered, as King Kong was taking over Godzilla's job of beating Caleb. "Leave them out of it!"

Dean pushed himself to his knees just as Charles grabbed his arm, trying to pull him over to where the chauffer had a struggling Sam cornered by the car. "Let me go," the blond growled, jerking free, just as he watched the ape-like goon grab Caleb so his lizard-faced buddy could deliver a few fisted blows to his mid-section and a powerful right cross to his jaw.

"Caleb!" Sam shouted, fighting vainly to get loose from the driver. "Dean!"

"Stop it!" Dean shouted, going after the goons again. "Let him go. Leave him alone!"

Charles wrapped his arms around the twelve-year-old boy's chest in an attempt to stop his advance back into the fray. "Do as he says!" He ordered when he realized he couldn't hold the pre-teen back much longer, but the men continued to pound on Reaves. "Monroe! Hankins! Leave him. It's finished."

Finally the punishment stopped, but the man holding Caleb didn't let him go. Instead, he swung him around slamming him into the side of Jim's old pick-up where his head met the side-view mirror with a sickening crack. Only then, did he release Reaves, and the twenty-year-old slumped to the ground in a boneless heap.

"Ultimate fighter, my ass." Dean heard the goon laugh as he jerked completely free from Conner. Apparently, the men had been expecting a formidable opponent. Something they would have gotten ten-fold if Reaves' psychic mojo hadn't interfered at the worst possible moment.

Dean glared at the man as he moved past him to get to Reaves. "You don't know how lucky you got, shit for brains," he grit out as he dropped to his knees by the unmoving hunter.

"Dean?" Sam asked breathlessly, appearing by his side, Atticus and Scout in his wake. "Dean…is he okay?"

The older boy reached a shaky hand out, let it rest against the psychic's throat. He was relieved when a fast pulse pounded beneath his fingertips. "He's alive," he said, glancing up at his little brother, who was perched on the other side of Caleb.

"He's bleeding," Sam's voice hitched and Dean glanced to where the little boy's hand rested in the psychic's dark hair. Sure enough, shiny wetness soaked the long strands, now starting to seep onto the pale skin of his forehead. "A lot," the seven-year-old whispered, lifting his hand. Red coated the palm and each finger.

"Damn it," Dean growled, suddenly, realizing something was missing. Caleb had yet to move. He'd been still…deathly still. "He's not breathing."

Sam started to cry, as Dean moved his hands to the older hunter's shoulder and gave him a hard shake. "Caleb!" he snapped, shaking him again. "Come on, man. Don't do this."

"What?" Conner knelt beside the boy. "You must be mistaken." He reached out to touch the psychic's chest for himself, but Sam's dark eyes lifted and he lashed out at him.

"Don't touch him! You did this. You hurt him."

"Caleb!" Dean had moved to roughly tapping the hunter's face now, as he fought off his own emotional outburst. Still, his eyes stung, and the lifeless form of his friend blurred in and out as tears marred his sight. "Please wake up."

"Call an ambulance," Charles barked to someone, although neither of his grandsons acknowledged his command. He hadn't planned on hurting the Reaves' boy. The idea was to remove Sam without incident, or at the very most, send a message to John he meant business.

"But Mr. Conner…," one of the goons objected, only to have the business man cut him off.

"One of you idiots call the damn ambulance," he ground out, "and if you've messed up my plans I will have you both exiled to the Greenland branch office."

The bigger of the two bodyguards, stepped away, pulling his cell phone as he did. Conner turned back to the injured hunter and the boys. Reaves had yet to move, and for a moment, Charles felt a pang of guilt at what he had done.

He had lied when he told Mackland Ames' son he was everything he had expected. The business man had not bargained on the fact the boy cared for his grandsons. But it was painfully obvious he did, and the sentiment was returned by Samuel and Dean.

"Dean…do something," Sam pleaded, his eyes going to his big brother.

Dean lifted his eyes from Caleb's starkly white face to meet his brother's panicked gaze for a moment. He wasn't sure what he should do. Reaves had started breathing on his own the night before. It had been over in a few seconds, and Jim and their father had been there. But now on top of the vision he'd experienced, he was injured.

"An ambulance is on the way," Conner spoke up.

Dean shot him a glare before placing his ear close to Caleb's blue tinged lips once more. "Come on, come on….please."

Just as Dean was wishing like hell that he'd paid closer attention to the last lesson on CPR that Pastor Jim had given them, Caleb's body finally jerked beneath his hands and the psychic took a gasping breath. "That's it." The twelve-year-old released his own breath he'd subconsciously been holding. "Come on, Damien," he coaxed.

Another shudder and a calmer, but raspier inhale had the brothers looking at each other, sharing watery, relieved smiles. "Caleb?" Sam leaned closer, patted the psychic's face. "Are you awake?"

Caleb blinked trying to bring his surroundings into view. His head felt as if it had been torn from his body, used as the game ball in a battle royal between the Cowboys and the Steelers and then replaced non-too gently for his enjoyment. Then there were his protesting ribs. Every breath sent a fiery pain in his chest. He was pretty sure passing out again was a good idea until he heard Dean's voice.

"Caleb! You need to wake up, man. _Please_." Dean didn't know what else to do. Daddy Warbucks was there to snatch Sammy and their best line of defense had just been trashed by Goliath times two.

"Deuce?" Caleb tried to lift his head, but found the slightest movement sent a spike of pain into his skull, radiating through out his central nervous system. "Shit!" He ground out, between clenched teeth.

"Caleb?" Sam's voice was scared and sounded younger than usual. He felt the little boy's fingers wrap around his hand. It gave the psychic the motivation he needed to roll himself over onto his side, where he fought the urge to be sick. He was messed up, but the situation wasn't allowing the luxury of wallowing in his injuries. There would be time to lick his wounds later. After the boys were safe. After he had killed the bastards who put him in the situation in the first place.

"Are you okay?" Dean's hands found his arm, pulling as Caleb carefully shoved against the unforgiving gravel. The bite of the sharp rocks digging into the palm of his hand clearing some of the cobwebs from his addled mind. He could feel something warm and sticky flow across his cheek as his center of gravity shifted and he leaned back against Jim's truck.

"I'm…good." Reaves managed, taking a shallow breath and biting his lip to keep from crying out, when a sharp pain lanced through his side. He just hoped it wasn't a piece of his rib piercing a lung. "It's okay, kiddo." He gasped as Sam crouched timidly beside of him, Scout crawled into his lap.

"This could have gone much smoother, Reaves," Conner snapped as if Caleb had cost him time and resources. "You shouldn't have interfered."

"Sorry to disappoint." Caleb glared up at the man. "But it's only going to get worse if you don't get the hell out of here."

"I came for what is rightfully mine." He looked from Dean to Sam. "I'm taking Samuel with me."

"No!" Dean stood up, his fists clenched in defiance. "Sammy's not going anywhere with you. Ever!"

"Son." Conner stepped towards the boy. "I don't want you to have a bad impression of me. I'm not the bad guy here." He held his hand out to the adolescent. "We're family."

"Stay away from him," Caleb growled, as he struggled to his knees. Despite the quickly tilting world, adrenaline helped him manage the miracle of actually getting to his feet.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the psychic, and then back to his grandfather.

"Too late for that," he snorted. "The good guys don't sic their pit bulls on people. And I already have a family."

Charles sighed, combing his manicured fingers through his hair. "Mr. Reaves brought this upon himself."

"Caleb didn't do nothin'!" Sam shouted, as he clung to Caleb's hip with one arm, puppy held tightly in his other.

The psychic reached out and wrapped a hand in Dean's shirt, pulling him back against the truck, close to him. He wasn't sure how effective his abilities would be with the concussion, so he hoped to offer some form of physical protection, no matter how meager it was.

"Get the hell out of here, Conner! And take your trash with you." Caleb glanced at King Kong, and the man let out a startled yelp.

The bodyguard started to claw at his throat, gasping for the air he could no longer take in. Amazing thing, that little gland at the base of the brain which regulated the respiratory system. Reaves grinned, despite the agony his fun was costing him. "That is… unless you want to join all those bodies that Pastor Jim has buried around this old place."

A look in Godzilla's direction had him collapsing to his knees, cradling his skull in agony. Of course there were rules about using his talents against humans, but no one, including Mr. Morality, Mackland Ames, could fault him this.

He was no good to the boys physically. This was their only chance. Reaves inclined his head to Conner, even as he felt a fiery pain erupt in his own skull. "You're next," he bit out.

"What the hell are you?" Charles' shocked gaze went from his fallen men to Reaves, who was slumped against the old Chevy, arms protectively outstretched in front of the boys.

"Me? I'm just your average, pissed off, psycho." Caleb forced a grin. "You know what kind of research my father does. I'm sure your elitist group has had a good laugh over his obsession with parapsychology."

He watched fear and uncertainty flicker across Conner's face, and decided to monopolize on it. "I won't… hesitate in killing you. If you've done _your_ research so thoroughly-" and Caleb was sure he had. He took a halting breath, "-if you know anything about me-about the Brotherhood- you should know that."

The businessman's eyes went from Sam, who was still clinging to the hunter's leg, to Dean, back to Reaves. His brow furrowed, and he clenched his hands into fists. It was obvious he was a man use to getting his way, but a warhorse of his caliber also new when to retreat to fight another day. "You realize, I'm coming back."

"Then you're dumber than you look," Dean snapped, quickly. "My dad will tear you apart."

Even as he said it Reaves felt him tremble slightly, heard his voice crack, marginally. The impressive bravado only carried so far when Sam was truly at risk. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the twelve-year-old was still a kid, not a grown-up trapped in a boy's body. But at times, like the one at hand, it was hard to remember him as anything but the painfully quiet, timid five-year-old Caleb had first met. The one he had instantly felt protective of.

Caleb released his mental hold on the two bodyguards, watched them collapse, gasping and panting with relief. He wanted them gone more than he wanted his revenge. "Go, before I change my mind…about the new fertilizer."

"Get up, you imbeciles," Conner snarled, casting a disgusted look in his hired protection's direction, gesturing them towards the car. Jerking the back door open himself, he shot another angry glare in Reaves' direction, as the men staggered to their feet and piled in the limo. "I will be calling on Johnathan again tomorrow. Tell him we _will_ come to an agreement, or I'll carry through on my plans to expose the lot of you."

Caleb replied with a weak raise of his hand, a gesture of body language that spoke volumes as to what he thought of Conner's regards to Winchester. Jim would have been proud he didn't speak the sentiment out loud. "Call first next time. It's…polite etiquette, you know."

Conner let the slamming of the door suffice as his reply. Reaves watched the black car turn and speed down the drive. Atticus started barking again, but remained in his seated position by Dean's side.

Caleb felt the last reserves of his strength melt away and his legs folded like bone had been replaced by that stuff Gumby was made of. "Shit," he cursed as his bottom struck the ground, despite Dean's best efforts to keep him vertical.

"Caleb?" Sam was somehow still attached to his side. He winced at the panicked, high-pitch, shrill-like quality of his name.

"Inside voice, Sammy. Inside," he mumbled as his eyes tried to succumb to the encroaching black void tugging at his consciousness.

"Stay awake!" A sharp stinging sensation had him blinking, and glaring at Dean.

"You did **not** just slap me, Deuce?"

He heard the familiar laugh, although it seemed to crumble into a sob-like mix at the end. "Stay awake…or next time I'm using my fist."

Reaves snorted, his head lolling back against the door of the truck. "Like you can hit, Deana."

"Apparently better than you, bitch." The twelve-year-old shot back and Reaves groaned.

"Bite me."

A sound of a vehicle approaching had Reaves's body jerking, as depleted adrenaline reserves tried to kick in. "Easy." Dean's hand was warm on his. "It's Dad."

About that time the wail of a siren echoed in the distance and the psychic groaned. "I am in such…big trouble."

"It's not your fault." Sam assured, raking his fingers through Caleb's long hair. "You saved us." The action had Reaves's eyes stinging and a lump sprung to his throat. He'd screwed up big time, given Conner even more ammunition against them, and the boy thought he was some kind of freakin' hero.

"Dean?" Caleb turned his hand, squeezed the fingers resting over his to get the kid's attention.

The younger boy looked at him, expectantly. "Tell them what happened…tell them what Conner said. Make sure Johnny knows."

"You can," he countered quickly. "You'll be fine and…"

Reaves licked his lips. "Just listen to me for once…"

A hint of panic marred the young face and his grip became crushing. Because he looked so scared, so un-Dean-like, Caleb forced a grin, even as he felt his resolve fail, his consciousness fading. "And Deuce… stop holding my hand…you're turning into such a girl…"

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_A/N: Big thanks to Tidia, who looked over this huge piece in one day!!! How great is she. All leftover mistakes are mine. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. I so appreciate it. Next chapter should be up by next week…but in the mean time, I have a little back story that needs to go up first-to explain some things in Chapter 5. Tidia is beta-ing the first part of it as we speak. What can I say…I needed some Dean angst. BG. _


	5. Chapter 5

_**"If you can't take the heat, don't tickle the dragon." -unknown**_

John was out of the truck as soon as it rolled to a stop. They had passed the unfamiliar limo on the way in and his well-honed hunter's sense was on full alert, rivaled only by the hard-wired instincts of a father. Something was wrong.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw both his boys standing by Jim's truck, unharmed. But then his gaze fell on Caleb Reaves' slumped form and his heart faltered a beat. "Damn it."

"Caleb!" Murphy called out the boy's name as he hustled past him, quickly making his way to the downed hunter's side.

"Dean?" John knelt next to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What the hell happened?"

The twelve-year-old looked at him. "A man…somebody named Conner." His bottom lip trembled, as he glanced to the pastor. "Is he okay?"

"He's breathing," Jim spoke up, ignoring Dean's question. He shot John a quick glance, and then looked off into the distance. "That ambulance sounds close."

"Conner did this?" Winchester took in the obvious injuries littering Reaves' body, worried at those not seen. John reached up and turned his boy's face to him. "Dean? Are you sure, son?" Charles Conner was many things, but physically violent wasn't one of them. It was too unrefined for his tastes.

"Some goons with him," Dean explained and his father let him go. His gaze went back to watching Jim's ministrations.

"Caleb?" Jim was patting the hunter's face. He glanced up at the younger Winchesters. "How long has he been out, boys?"

"Just a few minutes," Dean told him.

"And _humans_ did this to him?" Winchester was still in shock. He had trained Reaves himself. The kid could handle almost any kind of hand to hand situation. There had to be some explanation.

"He had a vision," Dean snapped, as if sensing what his father was thinking. "He was out of it when they jumped him."

"They were like giants!" Sam piped up in defense also. "Dean tried to help, but that bad man stopped him."

John sighed. "Dean-go to the end of the drive-make sure that ambulance knows where to come."

The twelve-year-old looked reluctant to leave. "Now, son. Go!"

Finally, the boy took off and John focused on his youngest. "Sammy-go into the house and get a blanket."

The seven-year-old hesitated only a moment before releasing his grip on Reaves' hand. He gave his father a quick nod and jumped up, scampering towards the house with Scout nipping at his heels. "This gash looks bad," John said, turning his attention to the deep cut just above Caleb's hairline. "He could have one hell of a concussion."

About that time, the psychic moved his head, groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. "Caleb?" Jim rested his hand on the young man's chest to keep him from moving. "Are you with us, my boy?"

"That depends…are you in Hell, too?"

John snorted. "Somewhere in the vicinity, but I'm guessing not at the same level as you."

"You'd be right," Reaves tried to turn his head to see Winchester, but a sudden knifing sensation behind his right eye had him hissing in pain, and remaining perfectly still. "Ow."

"Where do you hurt?" Jim asked, worriedly. "His hands ghosting over the young hunter's body."

"Easier to list places… I don't, " Caleb ground out, his mouth quirked. "Big toe, left pinky finger…"

"Caleb," John reprimanded and the psychic sighed, coughing slightly.

"Kidneys are bad, ribs are worse… head is much…much worse."

"Just hang in there," Jim squeezed his arm. "The ambulance is here now."

"No hospital."

Reaves heard Winchester mutter something under his breath that sounded like 'stupid ass', but his hearing was beginning to fade in and out so he wasn't quite sure.

"Oh he's going," Jim assured, and Caleb forced his eyes open again, wondering if he'd missed part of the conversation. "And you're going with him."

"Me?" John snapped. "I can't go-not with Conner around."

"He's coming…back." Reaves reached out suddenly, grabbed Winchester's arm. "Bastard…said to tell you he would see you tomorrow." Caleb licked his lips… "I'm sorry, man."

"It's not your fault, kid." John glanced up as the ambulance came to a stop not far from his truck. Sam came tearing out of the house at the same time, a pile of blankets grasped in his small arms.

"You need to know…" Caleb's grip tightened and Winchester looked back to the injured hunter. "He told them…Dean…about Mary. I…tried to stop him." The psychic winced again, his breath hitching now with each inhale. " I'm sorry."

John squeezed the kid's shoulder. "Take it easy. We're going to get you fixed up."

They were swarmed by paramedics then, pushed to the side. John grabbed Sam before he could get in the way, holding him close against his chest, breathing in the scent of little boy and summer-night air. "It's okay, Tiger," he whispered, hoping his words didn't sound as hollow as they rang in his own ears.

A light touch on his arm had him looking up into the solemn green eyes of his oldest son. "You did good, Ace."

"What's going on, Dad?"

There was a hint of anger in the tone, and the marine had to remind himself what his son had just gone through. "We'll discuss it later."

"Will Caleb be okay?" Sam asked in a hushed tone, as he followed every move of the paramedics.

"Sure he will," John said, soothingly, tightening his hold on the small child. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Even when tomorrow comes?" Dean spoke up again, his eyes also glued to the paramedics working on Reaves.

The oldest Winchester glanced up. "Drop it, Dean." His twelve-year-old son's face was hard, his lip clamped firmly between his teeth. Both fists were clenched and his body looked primed and ready for a fight. This wasn't how John had meant for them to find out. Of course things rarely ran the course that he wanted them to-especially where his family was concerned. "This isn't the time."

Dean shook his head, his eyes stinging despite his effort to redirect his emotions. His father wasn't answering his question, just as Jim hadn't answered his earlier inquiry about Caleb. Neither of them knew the answers-or else they were afraid to give the ones they did know. It sucked. "You're a liar."

Sam now looked up at the older boy, shock written on his expressive face. He felt his father tense behind him, tried to take a step towards his brother but found himself still caught in John's grasp. "What did you say?" The older hunter growled.

Before Dean could reply, Jim was speaking. "Johnathan, they're ready to go."

Dean didn't look at his father, although he felt his hot gaze searing through him. Instead, he watched as the stretcher was raised and rushed towards the ambulance, an empty feeling starting in the pit of his stomach branching out to swallow him whole. "Go, Dad. I'll take care of Sammy."

John stood, releasing his youngest son, who automatically went to Dean, burrowing his face in the older boy's t-shirt. Winchester looked away, met the priest's gaze. "Call Mackland. Tell him to meet us there. Call Joshua, too, he's close by." The marine raked a hand through his hair, "We're going to need some back-up."

Jim nodded, glanced back over his shoulder to where the medics were loading Caleb. "Take care of him," he told John, moving to stand by Dean and Sam. "I'll take care of everything else."

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An annoying beeping and a hissing whir heralded Caleb to the waking world, a cacophony of other familiar sounds missing as he fought his way back to consciousness. There was no chirping of crickets, or crowing of Caesar, Jim's favorite rooster. No laughter flooded from under the adjoining door to his room, and no classical music floated to him from the library where Jim usually spent his mornings reading.

The smell was different, too. Antiseptic-like and harsh instead of the aroma of hay, and brewing coffee. Reaves almost gave back into the tempting pull of blackness instead of facing the harsh reality of where he was, but a warm hand on his forehead kept him prisoner.

Fingers slid through his hair, and a deep voice said his name. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to cooperate, and the fuzzy image of his father's concerned face came slightly into focus.

"Dad?" His voice sounded rough and weak to his own ears, and he winced at the burning rawness the simple word evoked.

"Hey," Mac smiled, tightening the grip he had on his son's hand when he recognized the disoriented look in his green eyes. "About time you woke up, young man."

"What…happened?" Caleb glanced around the darkened room. The machines and bland walls and dingy tiled-ceiling filling in the 'where' part of his unspoken concern. _Fucking hospital. _

"You decided to add to my gray hair collection yet again." Mac frowned. "If you keep this up, I'm going to begin to think this is some kind of self-destructive ploy for my attention. Or perhaps a way of getting out of our deal about school."

Reaves tried for a grin, but only managed a wince when his attempt caused pain to radiate up the side of his face. "If I thought getting you to change your mind…about something was this easy…," he rasped.

"Easy?" Mac shook his head, ran his fingers soothingly through his boy's hair again. "Nothing about seeing you hurt is easy."

Caleb blinked, worried by the haunted look on the doctor's face. "Dad…are you okay?"

No. He was not okay. Mac shook his head, forced a weary smile. "I should be asking you that-don't you think?" The physician overrode the father and Mac let his hand slide from his son's head. "How are you feeling?"

"Is that a trick question?" The psychic closed his eyes for a moment when Mac gave him the 'cut the bull' look.

He felt his father squeeze his hand and he forced himself to open his eyes and take stock. "My head…hurts. Bad." His voice broke slightly and he silently cursed the stupid drugs they must have given him to have him sounding like such a pussy.

Mac sighed in empathy. "I'm sure it does. You have a concussion-but nothing that some rest and time won't cure."

"What else?"

"Well," Ames took a deep breath, let it out slowly, "you have some pretty impressive contusions and a couple of cracked ribs. Not to mention, a bruised kidney."

"My face?" Caleb raised a brow. After all, a guy had to have his priorities, and if the way it hurt was any indication of how he looked-his libido was going to take a beating.

Mac laughed. "No need to worry. You won't be disappointing any of the lovely co-eds. Although, it may be a good thing Fall term is still a couple of months away."

"Great," Caleb groaned.

"But you're going to be fine, son." Mac was back to being a father again. The same father who had bullied his way into the examining room and paced like a caged tiger until the wet-behind-the-ears intern finally assured him that Caleb did not have any internal bleeding. He let his hand rest on Reaves' hair again, warmed by the thought the young man didn't shy away or rebuke the physical contact.

It was rare that he accepted any such coddling. Not that the Ames family was famous for demonstrative affection. But having missed out on the early years with Caleb when he might have had an opportunity to form such a bond sometimes ate away at him. Especially when he interacted with young Sam who was so open and innocent in his ways of expressing his feelings. After all, if John Winchester could have sired such a warm and sharing child, then surely Mackland could have done the same, before hormones and societal views on manhood interrupted him. Then there was the whole issue of the Brotherhood…

As if Mac's thoughts had heralded him, the door to the room suddenly swung open and in walked John Winchester, ruining the rare Hallmark moment-as Dean would have called it.

Caleb moved away from him, pulling his hand free from his grip also, in an effort to push himself up in the bed. Obviously he didn't want to appear weak or defenseless in the presence of greatness. Mac rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hey, kiddo." Winchester stepped towards the bed, offering Ames a Styrofoam cup and a sheepish smile, as he made his way to Caleb's side. "You're awake."

"Unfortunately."

John shook his head. "You feel as bad as you look, huh?"

"Yeah," Caleb smirked, but then frowned suddenly. "Why are you here? Where are Sam and Dean? Did Conner…"

"Take it easy," Mac nudged past John, to put a restraining hand on Reaves' shoulder as several machines registered the change in the patient's heart rate. "You're in no condition to get worked up. We can discuss all of this later."

"But…the boys," Caleb again tried to shrug away from his father, even going so far as to attempt to get out of the bed. "We need to…get a plan together…"

"Hey," John snapped, leaning against the rail of the bed, physically blocking the younger hunter without actually touching him. "Stop it. The boys are fine. Jim has them, and I just talked with Bobby. He and Joshua are on their way there."

"Joshua?" Caleb growled. "What the hell can Joshua do? He's an idiot, and Dean won't listen to him." Dean didn't usually listen to Caleb either, but at least he knew how to work the kid. Joshua wasn't a match for Sam-let alone his big brother.

"Caleb." John's voice left no room for rebuke and the young hunter finally rested back against the pillows.

"Fine," He sighed, his arm protectively guarding his aching ribs. "When can I get out of here?"

"You just woke up!" Mac snapped, harsher than he meant to and both men gave him with a curious look. The doctor ran his fingers along his eyebrow, feeling his own headache starting to blossom, his blood pressure steadily climbing. "I assume your attending will want to be notified of your change in status. There will be an observation time and…"

"And you can do it back at the farm," Caleb offered, weakly. "I want out of here." He wanted back in the game.

"You _are_ a neurosurgeon," John added and the glare Ames shot him spoke volumes about his appreciation of the helpful comment.

"So what, Johnathan?" Mackland demanded. "I can open him up on Jim's kitchen table if need be? Perhaps Bobby could scrub in as my nurse. After all, he is a mechanic-an engine isn't that different from the human brain." The doctor clapped his hands together. "No worries, then. I'll go secure the AMA. If Caleb has a sudden hematoma or aneurysm, I can just patch him right up so you can get him back out in the field as soon as possible? Lord forbid one of your key players be benched in the middle of a game."

"Mac…what the hell…" John tried, but Ames had already gotten on a roll.

"Don't 'Mac' me!" The man snapped, stepping toe-to-toe with Winchester. "This is my son we're talking about. **_My _**son, Johnathan! Not your goddamn soldier."

"Dad…" Caleb's voice was hesitant, unsure. He'd never seen his father so angry and if the look on John's face was any indication, neither had he.

"You're right," John spoke up, and Reaves was shocked for the second time in so many minutes. "I'm a selfish bastard."

"That goes without saying." Ames agreed.

"Caleb should stay here. You stay with him. I'll go back to Jim's and handle things."

"No." Reaves interrupted. "I don't want to stay here." He looked at Winchester, attempting to steal one of Sam's patented moves. "Please."

The door to the room suddenly opened and an attractive, older woman with dark auburn hair strode in. She gave each of the older men a wary once over before her green gaze focused on Caleb, a genuine smile lifting years away from her lovely face. "It's good to see you awake, Mr. Reaves. I'm Doctor Elizabeth McCoy."

She stepped closer to her patient and glanced at the monitoring equipment. "How are you feeling?"

Caleb shifted himself in the bed. "I'm good, Doc."

"No you're not."

The young psychic glared at his father. "Yes. I. Am."

Mackland stepped forward, extending his hand. All signs of his previous anger had fled. "I'm Mackland Ames."

"Yes, I'm aware." The woman shook his hand, then looked at Caleb once more. "Is there a problem, Doctor Ames?"

"Yes." "No." Caleb and Mac answered simultaneously.

The physician raised a brow, crossed her arms over the chart clasped against her chest. "I see."

"My son seems to think that he is quite capable of leaving the quality care you are providing here, Doctor McCoy." He inclined his head. "And please, call me Mac. We're colleagues, after all."

Reaves rolled his eyes, having witnessed his adopted father's charm on several occasion. Smoozing was as genetically hard-wired in the Ames family as pissing people off was in the Winchester's. "I'm talking about going home, Mac, not running a freakin' marathon."

McCoy's smile faded and her brow furrowed as she turned her gaze back to her patient. "Mr. Reaves, you have a severe concussion, and several fractured ribs, not to mention numerous contusions. You've been in and out of consciousness for the past four hours. I could not ethically recommend you leaving the hospital at this time."

"That's exactly what I told him." Mac nodded, rubbing his chin. "Excellent work by your staff, by the way. Seems like a sharp group on top of their game."

John snorted, having been the unfortunate one to endure his old friend's earlier tirade about mediocre care, snot-nosed residents, and bogus on-line medical degrees. But Ames favored him with another withering glare, and he quickly moved away, making his way to the head of Caleb's bed.

The woman gave Mac a cool smile, and this time it was impossible to mistake thinly veiled hostility for flattery. "That's funny, Doctor Ames, but some of my staff was under the impression you were quite _dissatisfied_ with the care your son was receiving. One even told me you demanded to see his credentials. I think you made another first-year resident cry." She shook her head, disapprovingly. "There was no need to inform everyone of your connections at John's Hopkins and Duke. You're reputation proceeds you, and I would dare say that your perfectionist attitude and condescending air makes younger, more inexperienced physicians rather insecure. I on the other hand am not that impressed."

Caleb grunted. "Try being his son."

"Well…yes," Mac stammered, but Doctor McCoy cut him off.

"I will however let the board know that you offered to update our radiology room with a generous donation from the Ames Foundation."

"I don't think that is exactly what I said." Mac's face had lost some of its color and John was finding himself liking this doctor more by the minute.

Winchester scratched his head. "Yeah, I think it was more along the lines that you could have bought better equipment than the prehistoric crap they were using with the spare change in your pocket."

"Thank you for clarifying that, Johnathan," Mackland growled.

"I'll be excited to see that check then, Doctor Ames." McCoy dismissed him with another quick smile and focused her complete attention on Reaves. "As for you, young man, if you agree to stay the night for observation, then I will see about having you released in the morning."

"Sounds like a good deal, kiddo." John nudged the younger hunter's shoulder. "Better agree to it before your dad ends up springing for a new pediatrics wing."

"Whatever," Caleb sighed, "As long as I'm sprung first thing tomorrow."

"Believe me," McCoy shot another glance over her shoulder towards Ames, " We want your release as expedient as possible. And considering we are sending you home with a living legend in the medical field, I don't think that will be a problem."

"Do you do house calls, Doctor McCoy?" John asked suddenly, showing his own capacity for charm. "Because I know people who would pay to see this."

McCoy smiled, and there was no false pleasantry involved. "Please, call me Liz. And I have been known to drop by and check in on patients from time to time in the past."

"How Dr. Quinn of you," Mac grumbled. "And do you employ the barter system also? Because I'm sure Johnathan could scrounge up several chickens and some can goods."

"Actually, dinner would be sufficient." Liz once again favored Winchester with an appreciative glance. "As long as the company is above par."

Caleb laughed, and covered it with a painful cough that had all eyes on him. "Hate to break up this General Hospital moment , but shouldn't I be getting some rest."

"Of course," Doctor McCoy patted his leg as she turned to go. "I'll prescribe some pain relief now that you've been conscious and coherent for a while."

"Yes, don't bother with any further diagnostics. I'm sure I can handle any inter-cranial hemorrhaging if need be."

McCoy stopped at the door, and cast an apologetic glance at Reaves. "On second thought, maybe I could just have Prince Valium come visit your father so everyone could get some rest."

John grinned, dimples flashing. "Sounds like a happy ending to me, Liz."

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"Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a young prince named Samuel." Jim pulled the patchwork quilt higher up on the little boy's shoulder and smiled. "As you know, Samuel was a very special boy with many amazing gifts. He lived in a very magical world, surrounded by amazing friends that protected him."

"The dragons," Sam sighed, his dark eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

"The dragons." Murphy nodded, running two fingers over his white mustache. "These fearsome creatures protected young Sam from a very great Evil."

"The fire monster," the seven-year-old added, with an exaggerated shudder. "I really hate him."

"Me too," Jim agreed, and then continued in his story voice. "Unfortunately, the dragons were _so_ unusual and Sam was _so _special that he drew the attention of a very powerful King."

The priest cast a quick glance to the bed's other two occupants. Dean was watching him intently, and Scout was busy rooting her way into a comfortable spot between the boys. "The King decided that he must have the boy for himself, that perhaps the dragons were not the ones to raise young Samuel. He wanted Sam to live with him in his castle far away-to be a part of his family."

"But Samuel likes living with the dragons." The boy pointed out, his fingers absently brushing through the little lab puppy's hair. "He loves them." Sam glanced to his brother and then to Jim. "A lot."

"And the dragons loved the prince very much, too. But the King refused to see reason."

"I bet Athewm was mad at the King?" Sam asked around a yawn.

"Oh yes," Jim nodded, solemnly. "Athewm took the job of being Samuel's personal protector very seriously. Green dragons are guardian dragons. They are incredibly loyal and protective, you know." Murphy met Dean's eyes, then glanced back to Sam. "And Athewm had taken care of young Samuel since he was a baby."

"They were family." Sam looked up at his brother again when he felt Dean's hand come to rest on his head, his fingers sliding through his long baby-fine hair. "Like me and Dean."

Jim swallowed hard. "Yes. Just like you and Dean, Sam." The preacher cleared his throat. "But none of the dragons were happy with this King. Oh'nathan Jay was beside himself trying to come up with a plan to stop the King. And Cam and Asotrim were busy making sure he did not make matters worse with that dark temper of his."

"Because black dragons are the most fierce," Sam pointed out, sleepily.

"Yes." Murphy sighed. "I'm afraid their dark countenance is not a happy one in the best of times."

"What about Belac?" Sam asked, barely able to hold his eyes open now.

"Well you know how Belac is."

"He's an idiot," Dean mumbled, and Jim frowned at him.

"No he's not," Sam defended, his eyes widening against the heavy burden of exhaustion. "He's just a red dragon. And red dragons let their feelings get the best of them. Right, Pastor Jim?"

"I'm afraid so, Sammy." Murphy nodded. "Belac was so upset with the King because he was threatening the prince and upsetting everyone, especially Athewm," Jim pointedly stared at Dean, "that he attacked the King's army, and landed himself in a peck of trouble."

"But didn't he read the King's mind? Couldn't he tell what was going to happen?"

"Well, Sam, even smart, psychic, dragons like Belac make mistakes."

"And nearly get themselves killed." Dean spoke up again, quieter this time.

"Yes," Jim rubbed at his eyes. "Scales are not impenetrable."

"Was Belac okay?"

Dean and Jim shared a look over the little boy's head. "Of course," the priest said confidently. "Oh'nathan was able to rescue him in the nick of time, and Cam used his magic claws to heal him like new. He was fine, my boy."

Sam glanced up at Jim then, some other emotion besides weariness clouding the usual bright gaze. "Is Caleb going to be okay? He was bleeding really bad."

The priest patted the boy's chest, wondering not for the first time if the child was finally outgrowing the land of dragons story he'd weaved for him since he was barely old enough to talk. "Caleb is going to be fine, Sam." The pastor raised his gaze to Dean, feeling the need to reassure the other boy also. "He should be home from the hospital tomorrow. Mac said he was already harassing the doctors and flirting with the pretty nurses."

"Did he get hurt because of me?" There was a tremor in the little boy's voice.

"No," Murphy stated, emphatically, determined to erase any hint of guilt. "There is only one person responsible for this, Samuel, and that would be the Kin...I mean, Charles Conner."

Sam rolled towards his brother then, his brown eyes filling. "I don't want to live with the King. I don't want to go with Mr. Conner." He curled himself into Dean. "I want to stay with you and Daddy."

The older boy's own eyes shone brightly as he pulled his brother closer to him, and glanced up at Jim. "Don't worry, Sammy. No one's taking you away from us. I promise."

Jim watched the boys for a moment, wishing he could spin some ending that would make it all better for them.

But he was afraid tonight was only the beginning of the story, spiraling out of his narrative control, and he was quite certain there was no fairytale ending in sight. "Get some sleep, my boys." He turned off the light and slipped out of the room, trusting Dean to take care of the soft sobs still emanating from his younger brother. There were some things best handled by Athewm.

"Don't cry." Dean continued to rake his fingers through his little brother's hair. "It's okay."

"But…wha…what if I have to go?"

"Then I'll come with you," the ten-year-old promised, sure that it would never come to that.

"But then Daddy would be alone," Sam muttered, miserably.

There was nothing more important to the older Winchester than family. He never wanted to choose between his brother and his father. Even the thought was crazy. But if it did come to that, Sammy needed him more. "Don't worry about, Dad. He can take care of himself."

"I'm scared, Dean."

Those words sometimes came after a nightmare, but usually nothing frightened the seven-year-old. In fact, sometimes his fearlessness got him in trouble, and had his big brother terrified. "Nothing to be afraid of, Sammy. As long as I'm around nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam looked up at him then, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears, long lashes glistening with trapped droplets in the glow of the nightlight. "Because you're Athewm?"

Dean grinned, shaking his head. "No, dork. Because I'm your big brother. That beats a bad old dragon any day."

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_A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews-and I do mean all reviews! They keep me inspired, and keep me writing. _


	6. Chapter 6

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"_**So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending." -Tolkien**_

"Sammy, stop feeding Scout from the table." Dean pushed his brother's hands away from the pile of biscuits he was reaching for.

"It's for me," the little boy complained.

"Right. You already ate four all by yourself, huh?"

Sam didn't look the least bit abashed. "Pastor Jim says we should share."

"With other people, Sam."

"Dogs are people, too."

As if on cue, Scout managed to claw her way into the empty chair by Dean, sitting up and looking very prim and proper. Only missing a napkin around her neck. She didn't seem to mind her own lack of a serving set, helping herself to the remainder of Dean's biscuit from his plate. "Dang it," Dean growled, just as Pastor Jim bustled in a basket of eggs in one hand and the morning newspaper in the other.

"Dean, you know I don't let the animals eat at the table," the minister clucked disapprovingly, patting the puppy on the head as he passed by. "It's not good to start bad habits young."

He sat his basket down, scooping up two pieces of bacon from the frying pan still on the stove. He tossed them to Atticus, who was sitting at attention nearby, a string of shoe-lace like drool hanging from his smiling mouth.

The twelve-year-old rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You're a real stickler for the rules, Pastor Jim."

"It pays to be tough." The big man smiled, brought his own plate and newspaper over to join the boys and Scout at the table.

Sam giggled as Jim actually tore part of his own biscuit off and placed it on a saucer in front of the Lab. Scout gobbled it quickly. Dean frowned at the older man, who blinked innocently. "It is only polite to share."

"Told you!" The youngest Winchester chortled, and Dean kicked him under the table.

"Ow! He shouted, shooting an accusing look at his older brother. "You did that on purpose."

"Did not."

"Did too!"

"Prove it."

Jim sighed, carefully folding the newspaper so he could read the obituaries. It had become a rather morbid hobby that came along with his job. "Boys, it's not polite to fight at the table."

"Please. It's like Noah's ark."

The priest lifted his gaze from the fine print, his glasses hanging precariously from the end of his nose. He raised a silver brow, and Dean sighed. "Sorry, Sir."

"Now, what would you two like to do this morning?"

"Go to the hospital." Sam spoke up quickly and both of the other occupants looked at him. "We can, right?"

"Sam," Jim shook his head slightly. "I told you that your father called late last night and said Caleb would be home today."

The seven-year-old frowned. "But Daddy's a liar."

"Sam!" Dean snapped, his eyes widening as his own words were parroted back to him.

"Why on earth would you say that, my boy?" Jim lowered the paper, his gaze searching the little boy's face. Sam shrugged, shoving the sausage lumps in his gravy around with his fork. "Dean said so."

Jim now swung his blue eyes to meet the older Winchester's slightly panicked gaze. "I…I didn't mean it." Not really.

"Is this about what Mr. Conner said to you?"

Dean suddenly found his scrambled eggs very interesting. "I guess." It was more about the whole situation.

"Is it true, Pastor Jim?" Sam asked. "Is that man our mom's dad?"

"Samuel…." Jim started but was suddenly cut off by a knock on the front door. Atticus scampered towards the living room, barking furiously as if he might actually accost any unwelcome stranger. The pastor shot a thankful glance heavenward- saved by the proverbial bell.

"They're home!" Sam jumped from his chair, question forgotten. He shot off after the Golden Retriever before his brother could catch him.

"Sam, wait!" Dean's order went unheeded, and he shot the priest a worried glance. The minister must have been thinking the same thing because he stood and retrieved a rifle from behind the upright freezer.

Atticus bounded up onto the sofa, pawing madly at the large frame window, where two shadows could be seen through the curtains. Sam went straight for the door, jerking it open with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Morning sunshine flooded in, causing the little boy to shield his eyes. "Caleb!" he shouted to the back of the tall, muscular, leather-jacket clad form in front of him.

"That would be a definite no." Joshua Sawyer turned and favored Sam with an insulted look. "Maybe John should see about getting you to the optometrist, shrimp."

"It's you," Sam said with a definite frown once the voice and face registered. He promptly proceeded to shut the door, with all the energy he'd used to open it. "And I'm not short."

"Samuel!" Jim exclaimed, exasperated as he and Dean made it into the living room.

"That was not nice." What had gotten into the child?

"Neither was calling me short," he harrumphed, indignantly.

Jim rolled his eyes as he gently prodded the child away from the door, and guided him towards his grinning brother. "Well, I'll talk to him about that." He opened the door and shook his head at the blond hunter. "Already starting trouble, I see?"

"All I did was knock on the door," Josh defended, crossing the threshold, followed closely by Bobby Singer, who looked as if he were still half asleep. "Talk to the mini-Winchester about manners."

Jim ignored the younger man, focusing on the older demon hunter behind him. "Bobby," he greeted, but only received a grunt in return. "Coffee is in the kitchen."

Joshua moved out of the junkyard owner's way in fear of being stampeded once the man got a whiff of the bacon he could smell permeating the air. He barely shot the Winchesters a glance as he met the priest's gaze again. "Next time, I'd rather not have to play chauffer to Bobby, if you don't mind."

"He was on your way," Murphy explained. "Would you rather I sent the company car?"

"Anything but _my_ car."

"You still driving that piece of crap foreign job you had last year?" Dean asked, collapsing onto the couch with a bored look.

"That piece of crap happens to be a Mercedes."

"Okay." The twelve-year-old shrugged. "You still driving that really expensive, pansy piece of crap you had last year?"

Joshua looked at Jim, who merely quickened his step towards the kitchen and waved to him to follow. "We were having breakfast. Join us."

Sawyer glowered at Dean. "I'd almost forgotten how entertaining you are, Ace. Or is it, _Deuce_?"

The smile fell from the kid's face. "It's Dean."

"Right." Joshua rolled his eyes. "I'm not in the secret club."

"Because you're a dickhead," Sam informed him, as he started back towards the kitchen also. "And rude."

"Yeah…well, you're short."

"Good come back," Dean snorted as he shoved off from the sofa and moved past Joshua. "What are you? Five?"

Sawyer watched the twelve-year-old as he followed after his brother. "Yeah, this is going to be so much fun." He made his way into the kitchen, bypassing the table in lieu of the coffee pot on the counter. "So, when is Reaves being released from the hospital?"

Jim looked at Sam, who was sharing his seat with Scout now. "Today," the seven-year-old said, his eyes locked with the pastor's.

"And?" Jim encouraged.

"And I'm sorry I slammed the door in your face, Joshua." Sam sighed. "And that I called you a dickhead."

The twenty-five-year-old picked up some bacon from the stove and shrugged. "Thanks for the apology." He grinned then. "Now I don't have to turn you into a toad."

"Can you do that?" Sam asked, sincerely intrigued.

"No. He can not." Jim shot Sawyer a hard look before turning back to Sam. "Magic is never supposed to be used to hurt anyone."

"Not even evil kings?" Sam queried, and Bobby stopped eating long enough to glance at Murphy.

"Not even, Samuel." Murphy's gaze found Dean's. "Why don't you boys go out to the barn and feed One In A Million and Fat Chance? I'm sure they're ready for their breakfast."

"Can I brush them?" Sam jumped up, the idea of working with the Morgans pushing aside his fears for the moment.

"As soon as I get there," Jim cautioned. "And we might even go for a quick ride."

Dean roughly pushed his chair back and stood up, knowing he and his little brother were being sent away so the grown-ups could talk. He didn't like it one bit. "Pony rides aren't going to fix anything!" He snapped and Bobby's head whipped up.

"Watch the attitude, Dean," the gruff hunter growled.

The twelve-year-old bit his lip, clenched his fists. "Sorry, Sir."

Pastor Jim sighed, dropping his napkin in his plate. "No harm done. We all had a rough night. Our tempers are bound to be shorter than usual, our tongues a little sharp."

Something about the words had Dean's eyes stinging. He bit his lip harder, determined not to give into his emotions. Things had to be bad if his father had called both Joshua and Bobby. He wanted this all to be over.

"Don't worry about the King, Dean," Sam spoke up. "The dragons will take care of him."

That was his breaking point. "Shut up, Sam!"

"Dean…my boy…" Jim started, only to have the kid shake his head and take a step towards the back door.

"Don't." He didn't want to be placated-to hear any more fairytales. "Just leave me alone." All of them were liars.

Dean shoved through the door that led onto the screened in back porch, turned and started for the steps. In his rush he ran head long into Caleb, who had just carefully made it up the wooden planks.

"Whoa!" the psychic grunted, catching hold of the boy's shoulders and barely keeping them both from tumbling to the ground.

"Let me go!" Dean tried to jerk away, but Reaves held firm, despite the twinges of pain it sent racing through his ribs.

"Deuce, hold up."

The twelve-year-old seemed to realize who had a hold of him and stopped struggling. A few of the tears of frustration slipped past his well-honed defenses and he ducked his head. "Damn it." He hated feeling helpless like a stupid kid.

"Hey?" Caleb released one shoulder, bringing the arm back to cradle his side. He gingerly knelt down so he could see the boy's face. "What's going on?" It didn't take psychic abilities to know something was wrong. His first thought was that something else had happened with Sam, but Dean seemed more pissed-off than worried. "Talk to me, Deuce."

"I'm sick of this shit!"

"Okay." Caleb waited for more.

Dean met his gaze and then glanced off in the distance. "Nobody's telling us the truth. I want to know what's going on." He wiped the back of his arm across his eyes, cleared his throat. "That Conner guy showed up here thinking he could talk to me and Sam, which means Dad knew about it. And Jim told us a story about an evil king wanting Prince Samuel to live with him." His glassy green gaze met Caleb's again. "And now Joshua and Bobby show up and Jim tries to get us out of the way so they can talk. This is about **my family**. I should be included!"

Reaves squeezed the kid's shoulder and then let him go. "I know it sucks, Deuce. Grown ups don't always go about handling things the best way."

"You knew, too. Didn't you?" Dean accused, and Caleb nodded. He wasn't going to lie, even if it meant the kid would give him hell.

"But not until yesterday. They weren't exactly sharing the info with me either, Dude. Seems I still have a place card at the kid's table, too."

Dean glared at him. "You should have told me."

Reaves snorted. "And have your dad kill me? What good would I have been to you then?"

"You weren't much help anyway." Dean lashed out; getting the response he was looking for. But somehow seeing pain and misplaced guilt race through the older man's eyes didn't make him feel better. Instead, it made his eyes start to sting once more. "You said I could trust you."

"Yeah, well, even red dragons aren't invincible, Athewm. And I'm not fucking perfect."

Dean bit his lip, looked down at the planked porch. "What's Dad going to do?"

The wooden steps squeaked. "I'm going to do the best that I can." John Winchester's deep voice brought both Caleb's and Dean's gaze to him as he crossed the short distance to stand alongside them. "And I'm sorry if you felt like I lied to you. I was trying to protect you for as long as I could."

"I don't need protecting!" Dean glared at his father, but his bottom lip trembled slightly. "Sammy does."

John raked a hand through his hair, and glanced at Caleb who straightened himself. "I'll head on in."

"Straight to bed," the former Marine said, tiredly. When Reaves rolled his eyes, John frowned. "I promised your father, so, by God, you're going to do it."

Caleb finally nodded, shooting Dean a quick smirk. "Told you. I might as well still have my name written in magic marker inside my jacket."

Dean watched him go; still stung by the idea Reaves hadn't talked to him. Sure, Caleb was a lot older, but for some reason Dean had always felt they were on the same level about most things. Maybe that's why it was easier to be pissed at him than it was to be mad at Jim or Mac, or …

His father's touch brought him from his musings and he swung his gaze to the older man. "It was my story to tell, Ace. No one else."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to believe it myself."

"But it's not going to happen, right?"

John's face twisted as if he were in physical pain. "I've got to go back into town…meet with Mac's fancy lawyer again." But it wasn't going to change anything. It sounded hollow even to him.

"Screw that, Dad! We can just get out of here. We've run from things before-from the police."

"Not like this, kiddo." John shook his head. "He has us dead to rights. There's no where to go that he won't find us."

"What?" Dean shook his head. "We haven't done anything wrong. He can't hurt us if we don't let him."

John heard 'if _you _don't let him' and it cut him to his core. "Dean…it's not just about us. Other people are involved. People we care about. Conner knows things…about the Brotherhood…"

"Screw the Brotherhood! This is Sammy!"

"I know that." John grabbed the boy's arms, shook him once. "But you can't throw everyone else to the wolves, son. We're not talking about some faceless group of hunters. These people have been good to us. They're our friends. They've taken us in when we've had nowhere else to go-saved our lives." And he had a job to do…the Knight protected the Guardian and along with him the rest of the Brotherhood.

"I don't care."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

"You going to tell me you don't care if Conner destroys Mac's career…ruins all the good he's tried to do all these years. And Pastor Jim…you think they will let him keep the church? They'll crucify him, Dean. Bobby will be hurt and Joshua and Missouri and any other hunter that has ever had anything to do with us."

The kid looked down at the porch, trying to avoid his father's piercing gaze. "And Caleb." John shook him again. "Look at me, Dean."

Dean did as his father said, realizing the man was laying his trump card. "He'll put Caleb in jail…or worse, back in some kind of institution like a lab rat." And then the final blow. "And me, son. I won't be far behind him. I'll go to prison for a very long time. And where's that going to leave you?"

"I don't care," Dean said, brokenly. He understood what his father was saying. He didn't want anyone to get hurt. He didn't want to lose Mac or Jim, or Caleb. Losing his father was unthinkable, but losing his little brother… "We can't lose Sammy, Dad. I can't. I won't. I promised him."

John felt his voice betray him, knew the instant his eyes filled, because he saw a shimmering look of complete fear reflected in his eldest son's imploring gaze. "He won't be hurt, Dean. I would die before I let that happen. He will be safe. Conner is many things, but he won't physically harm him."

God, saying those words out loud was more painful than the silent mantra he'd been telling himself for days. He felt his stomach rebel. He had to swallow hard to keep from losing the cold pastry and stale coffee he'd choked down on the drive over to the farm. "He'll have the best of everything. Things I could only imagine giving you both."

"He won't have us!" Dean cried. "He won't have me to watch out for him! He won't have his family." Prince Samuel would have no dragons. The castle would be empty. What would a green dragon do without any charge to guard?

"You can't let this happen, Dad. Please!"

Dean's hands were clinging to the front of his jacket now, and John felt the first tear slide down his cheek. He covered his son's fingers with his own. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I can't promise I can fix this. I'll try, Ace. I swear on your mother's grave, I'll try everything in my power to stop it…or get him back, but…"

The twelve-year-old shook his head, let go of his father. "Don't say it, Dad." _Please. _

"You're going to have to let your brother go, son. Conner will be here this afternoon."

And there it was-that was the elusive truth Dean had been searching for. The evil king had conquered them.

Charles Conner was going to destroy his family.

And just like Saint. George with his mighty sword, Ascalon, he would leave slain dragons in his wake.

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_a/n:_ A super big thank you to Tidia for the wonderful beta work on this. And a huge THANKS to all the reviewers, who have made this story so much fun to write.


	7. Chapter 7

**_A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys  
Painted wings and giants' rings make way for other toys.  
Puff the Magic Dragon_**

"Since when did the castle get a dog?"

Caleb's deep voice could be heard as Dean approached the psychic's room. Pastor Jim had told him Sam had gone up with the older hunter to read him a story. He also suggested that maybe Dean would like to join them. Jim was a lot of things, but subtle wasn't one of them.

"Didn't you know that Dragons like dogs?" Sam sounded exasperated, but affectionate as always.

"As a snack maybe." Dean heard the psychic reply seriously. And the twelve-year-old leaned against the wall by the cracked door, unable to bring himself to go in. "Didn't **you** know that's what started the whole roasting hot dogs over a campfire thing, Sammy." He rolled his eyes. Big, bad, hunter his ass. Caleb was such a goofball when he thought no one was around.

"No way!" Dean listened to his little brother's protest, and bit his lip. "The dogs help the dragons know when there are bad guys around."

"Seriously?" Reaves's tone was challenging, playful.

"Yeah." Dean could imagine his little brother nodding, big eyes solemn as he made up some kind of plausible excuse. "Dragons have really small ears, and they can't smell very good. All that smoke from breathing fire stuffs up their noses, so they need good watch dogs."

"I hear the big reptiles are pretty messy, too."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "There's always piles of ashes and shed scales laying around."

"Then why not bring in Malibu Barbie and her hot plastic friends to help clean up the place?" Dean could almost see the silly grin on Reaves' face. "I think Belac would **really** like that."

"Gross," Sam scoffed. "Girls aren't allowed in the castle."

"Who says?"

"Prince Samuel. He's in charge."

Dean heard Caleb snort. "And who made that rule, Runt?"

It was now or never. Dean pushed off the wall, swaggered into the room. "Athewm."

Caleb and Sam looked up, and even Scout raised her head from the pillow she was sprawled out on. His little brother smiled at him, then glanced at Reaves. "See."

Dean stopped at the edge of Reaves's bed. The psychic was propped up against a pile of pillows, with Sam perched near his side. Barbie's gothic renovated castle was spread out near them, and Dean picked up the small black dog figurine guarding the draw bridge. "Where's Athewm, and all the other dragons?"

Sammy stared up at him. "They're taking naps."

The older Winchester smirked at Reaves. "Did their daddy send them to bed, too?"

Caleb gave him the finger, but Sam answered. "No, they're just resting for the big battle."

Dean raised a brow. "The big battle?"

The little boy nodded. "The evil King is coming to the castle soon. I was going to tell Caleb the story of how the dragons keep him from taking Prince Samuel. "

He and the psychic shared a quick look, and Dean felt his resolve falter. He'd told his dad he could do this. He had to do this.

Caleb was being his typical nosy, mind-reading, self because what little color his face had seemed to be suddenly leeched away, the dark bruising around his cheek appearing more prominent. "Deuce," he said softly, but Dean looked away.

He picked up the castle, moving it to the small bedside table. "How about I tell you both a story, Sammy?"

The seven-year-old shrugged. "I didn't think you liked the dragons anymore?"

Dean remembered how he had snapped at the little boy downstairs in the kitchen, when he was frustrated with Jim and the others. "I still like them." He glanced at Caleb again, then back to his brother. "But I think they might have been wrong about some things."

Sam frowned. "Like what?"

"Well scoot over and I'll tell you." Dean motioned for his brother to move, and the little boy crawled closer to Reaves.

Caleb winced slightly as Sam's sharp elbow caught him in the side as he squeezed beneath the hunter's outstretched arm. Reaves sighed as Scout was also prompted to join them along with her slobber-soaked, stuffed mouse, which she proceeded to drop on Caleb's chest, before rooting beneath his other arm.

The older Winchester plopped onto the bed, falling back, his elbows propped behind his head as if he were relaxing under the sunny summer sky just beyond the window. It was a tight squeeze, and Dean had to leave one leg hanging over the side to balance himself on the precarious edge.

"We're ready," Sam announced, after more wriggling. "What were the dragons wrong about?"

Dean looked at him. Sam was on his side, back pressed tightly to Reaves. His hands were in a prayer-like position, nestled under his cheek, as if he were preparing for bed, even though it was going on noon. So many times his little brother had assumed that position, waiting for Dean to lull him to sleep with one outrageous story or another. The idea that this could very well be the last time had Dean blinking furiously, trying to keep the emotions threatening to overwhelm him at bay.

"Let's hear it, Deuce," Reaves deep voice cut through the reverie. The twelve-year-old swallowed thickly, before giving him a quick nod.

"Well, you know how Athewm rescued Prince Samuel from the terrible fire that killed his mother, the Queen?"

Sam nodded. "Oh'nathan Jay tried to save the Queen, but it was too late for her," he added, gravely.

"Right," Dean continued. "Oh'nathan Jay loved the Queen a lot, and he was really upset when she died. He didn't know what he would do without her."

"He was so sad," Sam added. "The whole Kingdom was."

"They were." Dean swallowed. "So much so that they forgot that the Queen had more family than just the Prince."

Caleb felt the seven-year-old tense, and he instinctively let his hand drop to the little boy's head. He knew enough about Sam to know that touch was something he responded to. It would calm him faster than words.

"The King?" Sam queried, softly. "He was the Queen's daddy?"

"Yeah." Dean replied, licking his dry lips. His gaze was back on the ceiling again, and he was focused on keeping his breath steady. "The King had been away from the Kingdom for a long time, and most people thought he was dead. But he was really living far, far, away and didn't know what had happened to Prince Samuel."

"But Prince Samuel was fine. He was with Athewm and Oh'nathan Jay and his new family."

"Yeah," Dean nearly choked. "But the King found out about Prince Samuel and he wanted him to come live with him."

"That's what Pastor Jim said."

"Yeah, but Pastor Jim was wrong about him being evil, you see. The King wanted to give Prince Samuel all kinds of nice things that the dragons couldn't. The King wanted his grandson to grow up like royalty, not with a bunch of scruffy old dragons."

Sam rose up on one elbow, glancing down at his brother. "Dragons aren't scruffy."

"They aren't rich either, Sammy," Dean snapped, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. "They can't…couldn't give the Prince everything that he needed. The King could give him toys and a fancy castle to live in, and even send him to a really nice school."

"But Prince Samuel likes his school! He likes Ms. Murchison!" The little boy cried, and if Reaves wasn't certain the gig was up before, the use of Sam's teacher's name made sure he and Dean both were going to have to deal with reality.

Dean rolled over, facing his little brother. "I know he does, Sammy. But the King has a lot of power, and he runs the kingdom."

"But he _is_ bad, and the dragons stop everything bad."

"Not this time, Buddy."

Sam's eyes filled and Caleb felt his breath hitch before he heard it. Dean continued on, the words like salt in a wound. "The King's not really bad. He just wants the Prince to live with him, for them to be a family." Dean couldn't let his brother go, thinking Conner would harm him. He couldn't let him leave being afraid. After all, their dad had promised Sammy would be safe.

"Can Athewm come, too?"

"No," Dean choked. "I don't think so."

"Why?" Sam cried. "If the King isn't bad then why doesn't he like dragons?"

Caleb felt his chest tighten as he watched Dean's eyes fill. Damn John to Hell. Why the man was letting his twelve-year-old son do this he would never understand. "The King doesn't understand about the dragons, Sammy," Reaves answered, when it seemed Dean couldn't. "Sometimes normal people are afraid of anything different from them. They would rather not believe in magic than live in fear of it." Or destroy it, if they could.

The seven-year-old shoved himself into a sitting position, staring at the older hunter. "I don't want to go," he pleaded. Reaves felt his own eyes start to sting. Scout whined, sitting up to lick at her boy's cheeks which were now wet with tears. "Please, Caleb, don't let him take me. You stopped him before."

"I…" Reaves started. Dean surprised him by bolting up right, grabbed a hold of his little brother's shoulders, and forced him to look at him.

"It's okay, Sam. It won't be as bad as you think." Reaves watched the older Winchester pull himself together, trying to make it all better. But his voice was high-pitched and had a frantic quality. He didn't even need to touch the other's mind to recognize the fractures appearing throughout the pitiful facade. "It'll be fun, like an adventure. You'll get to meet new people and go to new places. And you can have a dog of your own, and a horse, and a bike."

"No," Sam shook his head. "I want to stay with you."

"You'll still see me, Sammy. All the time." Dean didn't know if that was true or not. He might never see his brother again.

"But who will take me to school? And help me with my homework? Who'll pick out my clothes or fix my lunch or breakfast? Who'll keep the fire monster away?"

"Our grandfather will, Sammy. He'll take good care of you. Just like me and Daddy."

The seven-year-old continued to shake his head in denial. "But he's not you! He's not a dragon." He wrapped his small hands in Dean's shirt, pulling his brother close to him.

It looked to Caleb like Sam was trying to climb inside his brother's skin, bury himself so deep that no one could separate them. God, he wished that were possible.

Dean let his arms come around the quaking body clinging to his own heaving chest. "It's okay, Sammy. Just breathe," he whispered, into his brother's hair.

"Who's going to wait on me to go to sleep at night, Dean?" He choked, his breath hot on the older boy's neck. "I can't go to sleep alone."

"I know," Dean soothed.

"I won't have a big brother no more," Sam sobbed, and Dean looked up at Reaves as he felt the older hunter's hand curl around his neck. "What will I do without you?"

Dean felt Caleb's warm grip on his skin and he let go of his own sob. "You'll always have a brother, Sammy. No matter what, I'll make it right." He closed his eyes, holding tighter to the hysterical seven-year-old. "I promise."

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Caleb woke with a start, his breath coming in harsh pants. He jumped when a hand rested on his chest. "Easy, son."

"Mac," he sighed, glaring up at his father. "Seriously, you have got to stop doing that."

"Nightmare?" The physician sat on the edge of the bed, a familiar look of concern etched on his face.

Reaves frowned, partially relieved he couldn't remember the dream, and slightly worried that it might be important. "I'm not sure. Your forced prescription drugs muck everything up. What happened to all that just say no crap you drilled into my head?"

"You needed the rest."

That seemed to jar the psychic's memory some and he quickly looked to his right, seeing only Sam curled in a ball next to him. The little boy was still sound asleep. "Where's Dean?" Caleb carefully extricated his arm from beneath Sam's head, and pushed himself up higher in the bed. "Dad?" Sam had cried himself to sleep, Dean not far behind him. Reaves made sure they were both out before finally giving in to the pain meds.

Mac held up a hand, nodded towards the slightly ajar adjoining door. "He's fine. He's packing Sammy's things;" the doctor kept his voice quiet, "Jim's helping him."

"Where's John?"

"He's down talking to Bart Cameron."

Caleb looked at Sam sleeping peacefully, one arm tossed across Scout, the other wrapped around a toy green dragon. "It's not going to help is it?"

"They are discussing some details about visitation and other legal matters."

"Visitation?" The psychic rolled his eyes. "You don't make deals with the devil. He doesn't really think Conner is going to co-operate like some jilted spouse does he?"

"We have to try and…"

"Try nothing. We have to keep Sam and Dean together."

"That's not going to be possible." Mac wished it weren't true, but he didn't see it working out any other way. Not without bloodshed. He raised his gaze to his son, when the strong feelings emanating from the boy penetrated his senses. "Don't even think about doing anything stupid, son."

Caleb looked down at the little boy, threaded his fingers through the mass of sleep ruffled hair. "You know I use to think someone would come and take me away from you."

"What?" Mac asked, not expecting the shift in conversation.

Reaves continued to watch Sam sleep. "After you took me out of the hospital…before you went to court with Bird." Caleb finally met his gaze. "Hell, even after you got temporary custody, after the adoption, I use to dream about it. I couldn't tell if they were visions or not. I was afraid to ask you."

"Son…" Mac raked a hand over his face. "I never…

Reaves shook his head slightly. "Sam's always been safe. He's never been away from Dean. Please, Dad, you can't let this happen. They don't deserve it."

"Caleb, what do you expect me to do?"

"The Brotherhood can fix this. We can just make it disappear."

"You mean make Conner disappear."

"I mean protect, Sammy."

"And Dean." Mac hedged, watching a myriad of emotions rush through his son's expressive eyes. Caleb would never admit it, but Dean was a weak spot in his otherwise hard-ass exterior.

Reaves glared at him. "He's twelve! His whole life has been about taking care of other people."

"And you're going to take care of him?"

"Yes. Somebody has to."

"So…you're going to kill his grandfather, salt and burn his bones, maybe."

"If that's what it takes."

"Caleb…"

"We'll lose him, too." Didn't his father understand? "John might as well let Conner take them both."

"John isn't _letting_ Charles do this." Mac's frown grew. As much as a little part inside of him would relish in the opportunity for his son to recognize some flaw in John Winchester, he wouldn't let it happen for the wrong reasons. "This is killing him."

"Then he should fight."

The physician sighed. Fight was always his son's first instinct. Fight the authority. Fight his gifts. Fight anything remotely evil. Sometimes Mac just wished for some peace in their lives. But that wasn't the road he chose for them. "He's fighting it the only way he can."

"By the law?" Caleb scoffed, and Sam shifted against him. He returned his hand to the little boy's head. "What the hell has the law ever done for us?"

" For one," Mac held the boy's angry gaze, "they kept anyone from taking you away from me."

Reaves sighed, looking past his father's shoulder, wondering for the first time how long he had actually been asleep. How long they still had left before the King came to the castle. His 'nap' hadn't helped him feel any more prepared for the battle.

"When?"

"He should be here anytime now."

"Damn it! I hate this." Reaves raked both hands through his hair, wincing as his fingers slipped over the gash in his head. "I don't know what to do for them."

"We'll do what we can. We'll be there for them…for Dean…for John."

Caleb gave him an incredulous look. "You going to bring a crazed grizzly to your little support group, too, Mac? Johnny doesn't do the whole touchy-feely thing. And in case you haven't noticed, neither do I."

The physician grinned slightly, shaking his head. "I think you and the grizzly do it better than you realize, _Damien_."

His son raised a surprised brow at the implication. Before he had a chance to come back with a quick rebuff, a vehement denial, Dean and Jim appeared through the adjoining door from the boys' room.

"Hey," Caleb gave Dean a quick once over. "What's with not waking me up, Deuce?"

Sam stirred beside him; his tousled head popping up to also peer at his older brother. "What time is it?" he croaked, sleepily.

The twelve-year-old continued to stare at them, Jim's hand on his shoulder. Caleb wasn't sure if the gesture was to keep him from bolting or just a morale boost. He was afraid to reach out and brush against the younger boy's thoughts due to the foggy drug effect. It would be easy to use too much force. Still, Dean's unnatural silence was unnerving, too reminiscent of the first time they'd met all those years ago.

"It's almost four, my boy," the pastor finally replied, with an obvious forced smile. He patted Dean's shoulder and then gave him a gentle shove to get him moving.

The adolescent stiffly made his way closer to them. It was then Caleb noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder with a familiar-looking one-eyed bear poking out. _WooBee. _"I got all your stuff, Sammy."

Sam looked at his brother and then down at the bag. Caleb felt him tense and a sharp pain lanced through his skull like a warning bell. "I thought it was a bad dream," Sam whispered.

Reaves didn't even have to look at him to know he was close to tears again.

Dean met the psychic's gaze. "Can I talk to Sam alone for a minute?"

The psychic didn't get a chance to answer before Mac did. "Of course, son." Ames reached out to assist Caleb but one glare had him stepping back with an annoyed sigh.

The dark haired hunter held his ribs and made it to his feet. He bent over and scooped the Lab puppy up with him. "She probably needs to hit the head as bad as I do, runt," he explained when Sam gave him a panicked look.

"Okay," the seven-year-hold's lip trembled and Caleb felt bile rise to the back of his throat.

"We'll just be down stairs," Reaves explained again, wishing he could take the look of abandonment off the little boy's face.

He felt his father brush against his arm, and Jim's warm voice rushed over him. "I'll have some apple pie and ice tea waiting when you come down."

Again Dean looked at him. Caleb couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the sweet, albeit ridiculous attempt by Jim to make it all better with comfort food. The pastor might as well have been serving broccoli and prune juice. He was rewarded with a barely visible smirk from the twelve-year-old.

Once the older men were gone, Dean slumped down on the bed beside his little brother. "How you doing, tiger?"

Sammy shrugged, his lip protruding.

"No silent treatment, Sammy. Talk to me."

"I have to go with Mr. Conner."

"Yeah."

"Forever?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "We'll figure it out."

"You and the dragons."

"Sammy…" Dean sighed.

"I know you don't think they're real, Dean. But I believe in them. I believe in you."

"I won't stop trying, Sammy. None of us will."

"I'm scared."

"Don't be afraid, geek boy." Dean forced a cocky grin. "You have to be brave. You're a Winchester. Don't ever forget that."

Sam smiled through his tears. "Dean Winchester's little brother."

The twelve-year-old hugged him. "Always, kiddo."

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Conner had honored his agreement not to bring his muscle this time. John had warned him he couldn't be held accountable for what might happen to them if they showed themselves after the beating they had given Caleb. And Sam didn't need to be frightened anymore than he already was. So, Charles had shown up with only his driver and his lawyer, a weasel looking fresh-faced kid with a thousand dollar suit.

The two attorneys had spoken briefly, ironing out a few details the law would never consider binding. John was forfeiting his rights. It was plain and simple. If Conner so chose he could leave with Sam and never look back.

Sam looked up at Mac, who gave him a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay, Samuel." The little boy leaned into his leg slightly, watching his father speak to the two attorneys. He was holding Scout, and much too quiet for Ames's liking. The physician patted his arm, wishing he had some kind of magic wand that would put it all back together again.

In his early years as a surgical resident he'd watched families be destroyed by losing a member of their close-knit structure. But he had been young and ambitious then-untouchable. So driven that he'd been able to brush aside their pain, so anxious was he to play God that mere mortals were the least of his worries. But then fate and an ill-timed drunk driver had left him paralyzed and brain damaged.

He had nothing to do but think about such things. And when the experimental surgeries repaired not only the damaged pieces of him but awoke unused areas of his brain, bringing bonus abilities that scared him beyond comprehension, he made the most important choice of his short life. He vowed to make a difference in the world. If not by mending people's physical bodies, then by healing their emotional wounds.

For a while, his new found _empathy _had seemed like a curse. But eventually, with control, came satisfaction as he discovered amazing ways to help people-to end a suffering far beyond any physical impairment. He used his new gifts to work with the police to return missing children, to find long-lost loved ones. He continued neurosurgery, but began to teach and research for cures, instead of following the daunting quest for fame.

But still, family and a love of his own beyond his work remained an elusive concept to him. That was before meeting Jim Murphy and Missouri Mosley. Until then a silver spoon and a cashmere blanket were the only concrete experience he had of love. They brought him to Caleb-a beautiful, but fractured child to call his own. And along came John Winchester and his pitifully broken, heart-stealing family. The brother he had never realized he was missing.

Mac attempted to do what he did best-put things back together. But _this_ was a synaptic pathway he could not bridge, a fracture he could not knit. It was shattered beyond his skill. Even his old fall back of money and privilege couldn't make it right.

Sam leaned more into him and Mac pulled himself from his thoughts. The lawyers were finished and John, looking older than his years shot him a glance that spoke volumes. It was time. He took a calming breath and knelt beside the child. "I put all your books in the car, Samuel. And I expect you to keep up with reading every night."

"A new word every day," Sam recanted their deal about the dictionary Mac had bought him for his birthday.

"Exactly."

"I won't waste my brain on video games and inane television shows."

Mac shook his head at the latest word they had worked on, and the boy's precise use of it. "I know you won't, Sam." The physician pulled him in for a quick hug, careful not to mush Scout who was still held in the child's arms. "You'll be quite the scholar some day." Hopefully that would not change. "We'll see you soon."

"Okay."

He let Sam go and Jim was there. The little boy didn't give the big pastor time to bend down before he latched onto his legs with one hand, almost losing his grip on the squirming puppy. "I'll miss you so much, Pastor Jim."

"Oh, my boy, I will miss you more." Jim's voice hitched. He pulled the seven-year-old tight against him. "I don't know how I'll run the farm without you."

Sam looked up, reluctantly holding the little Lab puppy out to him. "Take care of Scout," he whispered and then stepped back.

Caleb's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon as Sam talked to Jim and his father. Mac had wanted him to say his goodbyes in the house but he wasn't going to let Dean or John do this without back-up. He didn't give a fuck if Bobby and Josh were there. It wasn't the same.

The warm fingers on his own brought him from his reverie and he swallowed hard, steeling himself before meeting Sam's gaze.

The seven-year-old tugged on his hand and he knelt on one knee. "Don't even think I'm going to say some sappy good-bye. Real men don't do these Walton's moments, John's Boy."

Sam grinned at the typical display of bravado and the silly nickname. "Did you know elephants cry just like people do? And they're the biggest, strongest animals on land."

"They're afraid of mice, Sammy." Caleb pointed out, wrapping his fingers in the little boy's shirt and giving him a little jerk forward, so they were almost nose to nose. "Do I look like I would be afraid of a mouse to you?" Reaves growled menacingly.

It garnered the desired effect and Sam giggled. "You're afraid of spiders."

"Am not."

"Are too." Sam leaned his forehead against Caleb's. "You scream like a girl."

"Look who's talking. Ronald McDonald sends you into fits, Samantha." Caleb swallowed hard when the little boy's arms came around his neck and his head dropped to the older man's shoulder. He was pretty proud he wasn't falling apart like Jim and Mac. "Don't forget me."

Reaves felt his eyes start to sting. _Damn it. _"Never, kiddo."

"And protect Dean for me."

"With my life."

It was a dragon's answer. The only one a Prince would expect. "I love you, Belac."

The psychic pushed him back a little, grinned crookedly. "Trying to trick me into it, aren't you?" He was not going to lose it.

"You don't have to say it." Sam smiled back, reaching up and brushing the one lone tear off of Caleb's face. "I know the truth."

"Yeah. Well." Reaves quickly cleared his throat, letting him go and standing up. "We don't call you Tiny Einstein for nothing."

Sam stepped in front of his father. "Be a good boy, Sammy." John ran his fingers over his son's hair, praying it wouldn't be the last time. "I know what a handful you can be." His face felt like lead as he tried to manage a grin, every muscle rebelling as he managed a twisted imitation.

Apparently, it was as grotesque as it felt, because Sam suddenly clung to him. The kind of clinging that comes after an unexpected fear, like being separated in a large department store, or seeing Santa for the first time at the mall. It was desperate, like awaking to an empty, dark room. He couldn't help but to wonder at the dark, emptiness his son might find in the morning. "Hush, baby, it's okay." He peppered kisses, against the boy's hair.

"I don't want to go, Daddy. Don't make me," the child howled. Sam had promised his big brother he would be brave. But he couldn't do it. He didn't want to leave his family. "Please," his voice broke on a sob and he felt his father's chest heave against his.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry," John continued, unable to keep the tears from his voice or from his eyes. "It won't be forever. I swear."

Dean wanted to scream, but even if he would have allowed himself the luxury, his chest was too constricted to oblige. The tension around him was suffocating. Mac and his fancy lawyer friend were exchanging heated looks with Conner. Jim was running his hands absently over Scout, shifting from foot to foot as Atticus whined and nudged at his legs.

Caleb was standing rigid sentry by his father and Sam, his gaze fixed on something Dean couldn't see.

But he heard his thoughts as clearly as if they had spoken aloud. _"We'll fix this, Deuce. I swear to God, we will." _

Dean looked at him, but Reaves didn't meet his gaze. He continued to look past the limo, distancing himself from the moment. Dean wished he could join him. He wanted to run as fast and as far away as possible, but he wasn't going to let Sammy do this alone. He had to be strong for his brother.

"Come on, Sammy." As if in a hazy dream, Dean reached out and gently pulled his little brother away from his father, taking his smaller hand in his. "It's going to be okay, remember."

Sam looked up at him through wet, dark lashes. "I'm sorry. I tried to be brave."

Dean swallowed thickly, feeling his father's eyes on him. He couldn't look at the man, instead he held his brother's gaze, never wavering. "You are brave, Sam. You're a Winchester. Remember?"

Sam nodded, and for a moment it was only the two of them, no one else existed. "Dean Winchester's little brother," he said, softly.

Dean grinned. "Always."

The little boy looked up and lifted his free hand towards Bobby and Joshua who were standing on the porch.

They waved back and Sam looked at his father again. "I love you, Daddy."

John reached out and let his hand rest against his son's face. "I love you, too, Sammy. I'll call you tonight, okay."

The seven-year-old nodded and Dean led him to the limo, as if it were the gallows in a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western. Conner smiled at them and opened the door.

Dean looked up at him, glanced over his shoulder to his father, and then returned his cool green gaze back to his grandfather. "I need to talk to you."

Conner watched Sam slide into the big expanse of the back seat and motioned for Dean to the same. "Of course."

John started to step forward, to stop his eldest, but Caleb caught his arm. "He needs to do this, Johnny."

Winchester looked like he wanted to refuse, like he wanted to punch something, maybe even Caleb, but finally he acquiesced. Reaves wasn't sure what Dean had in mind, was slightly afraid it wasn't good, but he knew the kid had to face it, whatever it was.

Dean felt his brother's hand tighten around his as their grandfather climbed into the opposite, leather, bench seat in front of them and closed the door, secluding them in the darkness provided by the extremely tinted windows. "I wrote down a bunch of things," Dean started, pulling several sheets of paper from his pocket, "there all about Sam. Important things that you should know."

Conner reached for the notes, but Dean held onto them. "There's a lot I didn't get to put in there…" the kid licked his lips, "so…I was thinking that maybe you should take me, too."

He sensed Sam's gaze on him, but he continued to stare at the older man. Dean had watched The Godfather and Scarface hundreds of times with Caleb. He knew how to go to the mattress. Deals were made with a steady eye, steadier hand. "I look like my mom, you said it yourself. Dad's always saying I have her eyes, and her smile."

Charles swallowed thickly, nodding slightly. "You do."

"I can do things, too. I can cook and clean. I mean you probably have someone to do that for you, but Sammy's a picky eater. I know how to fix all his favorite foods, how to wash his clothes. I know how to get him to go to bed and what to help him with in school."

"Dean knows everything," Sam piped in and Dean gave him a look that told him to let his brother handle the negotiations.

"I'm sure he does, Samuel, but your father and I have an understanding. You will come to live with me and your brother stays with him."

"But Dad doesn't need me," Dean snapped. "Sammy does."

"Samuel will be well taken care of. I can promise you that."

"I'll listen to whatever you say. I'll be good. I'll even do better in school. I'm smarter than it shows on paper. Mac says that all the time."

"I'm sure you're very intelligent, Dean, but…"

"But what? I won't cause any trouble. You won't even know I'm there. I'll make you proud. I swear."

"Dean," Conner held up his hand, shaking his head slightly. "You have to look at this from my point of view."

"I am. Two grandsons are better than one."

Charles looked out the window, watching the men peering intently at the car. The boy did look so like Mary…those eyes... Maybe he could… "You see that pup out there?"

Dean frowned at the odd question, and then followed the older man's line of sight out towards Jim who was still holding Scout. "Yeah."

"It's a baby, a blank slate-trainable." Conner met his gaze. "The other dog is a lot older. Already set in its ways-already effected by the hand that raised it-tainted."

"Atticus is a good dog," Sam said again, not really understanding the metaphor his grandfather was attempting to make, but picking up on the idea that Atticus was being somehow insulted.

And so was his brother. "I'm not tainted!" Dean snapped. "My dad is a good father. He taught me and Sammy how to act right."

"I'm sure he tried." Charles said, his posture stiffening. "But John and I do not see things the same way. We are from different worlds."

"Sammy is from our world."

"Not anymore."

"Yes I am!" Sam demanded, and Dean squeezed his hand. "I'm a Winchester!"

"I think it's best you go now, Dean." Charles reached for the door handle. "Before you upset your brother further."

"You're the one upsetting him," Dean choked, unable to keep a grasp on his aloof, bargaining manner. "Please." He dug his fist into the leather seat, as he felt the first of many hot tears slide down his face. "Please let me come, too." He had never thought about his grandfather turning him down. It was his last life-line.

"No." Charles Conner had made up his mind. The sins of the father were always expressed in the son. His contacts and the inside man he had paid handsomely had told him all about Dean. "You're too old. I'm sorry."

"Dean," Sam clung to him. "Don't go. Please don't leave me alone with him."

Dean pulled his brother tight to him, feeling his heart trying to pound its way from his chest. "It's okay, little brother." He shushed him. "It'll be okay."

The twelve-year-old heard the door open, and swallowed back the rest of his words. No amount of talking would fix this. There was only one thing left to say. "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you, too, Dean."

With that, he gently pried Sam's hands away, and Dean did the one thing he never thought possible, he let his brother go. He wiped a hand over his eyes, clearing his face of traces of his distress. His green gaze bored into his grandfather and he handed him the list of instructions. "Take care of him."

Conner didn't like the tone, or the implied threat, but he held his tongue. "I'll treat him like my own son."

The giant pit in Dean's stomach grew. He forced himself out of the car, and shut the door behind him, leaning against it for only a moment before straightening his shoulders and stepping away.

He heard Sam shouting his name even through the reinforced steel, and he closed his eyes for a moment, before turning back around and watching silently as the limo turned around and slowly started down the long drive away from Pastor Jim's.

Atticus barked and across the field One in a Million and Fat Chance ran along the fence as the car disappeared out of sight.

"God damn it!" John yelled, after the retreating vehicle. He clenched his fists throwing his head up towards the sky in a primal, pain-fed scream. "Damn you!"

"Johnathan," Jim said softly, his eyes on Dean, who was still staring at the last place he'd seen his brother. "Don't."

The hunter's glare fell on the pastor. "What, Jim? Do you honestly think I could make this worse?" He gestured to his son. "He watched his mother burn to death, and now he's seen his brother carted off by the devil. I don't think I can really add any other trauma."

"Damn it, John." Mac stepped closer to his old friend. "Stop it."

Reaves was watching Winchester, but his attention was focused on Dean. He felt every pain the words inflicted on top of the devastation of letting Sam go. "Shut the fuck up! All of you."

At the sound of his voice, Dean took off in a dead run towards the pond. John started after him, but Caleb stepped in front of him. "Don't."

Anger mixed with hurt and John shook his head slightly. "Move, kid, before I go through you."

"No," the psychic shook his head, "let me do this."

Mac made to move forward, but Jim stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. He shook his head and the physician halted, but kept his eyes on his best friend and his son.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Winchester stepped forward, moving into Reaves personal space. "I'm still _his_ father."

The psychic held his ground. "Yeah, and he loves you, man. But right now he hates you more. "

John seemed to deflate, like a balloon with a slow leak. "What if I say no?"

Caleb gave him a slight grin, dropping his arm from its protective pose across his busted

ribs. "Then I'll just have to kick your ass, Johnny."

"That would be some trick, private, considering you just got out of the hospital, and look like you're about to collapse at any moment."

"I'll do it if I have to."

"Yeah," John took a step back, slid his hands through his hair, across his face. "You'd probably give it a good try."

"Damn straight."

After a moment, he sighed in defeat. "Go check on Ace."

John watched him go, turning to face Mac and Jim. "I'm going to get a drink."

"You're leaving?" Mac asked, incredulously.

"Unless Jim's put a new bar stocked with Tequila in the barn then yeah…I'm going out."

"But Dean…" Mac gestured towards the directions Caleb had just gone, "He needs to talk about this."

"He's my son, Mac!" John snapped. "Not your god damn patient."

The familiar words delivered a sharp punch and Mac bit his lip to keep from saying anything he'd regret. After all, turn about was fair play. "Then I'll come with you."

"I don't need a fucking babysitter or a therapist."

"Good, because I'm not offering either service. I am however offering my skill as a designated drive." No matter how much of an ass John Winchester was, he was the closest thing to a brother Mackland Ames would ever have. "We've all lost enough family for a lifetime."

"I'll stay with the boys." Jim looked out towards where the pond lay beyond the hill, and then back to the Scholar and Knight. There was a dangerous glint in his light blue eyes. "But I better not have to pull your hides out of jail this time. I swear to all that is holy that I will leave you in there to rot-or worse- if you do anything else to upset either of them."

Mac nodded, jutting his chin towards the porch where Bobby and Joshua were still watching them. "We'll take Bobby with us."

Jim sighed. "And why doesn't that make me feel any better?"

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Finding the kid exactly where he expected to, didn't make Caleb feel one bit better. He was at the edge of the large pond, skipping stones over the water.

"Leave me alone!" Dean growled before the psychic even made it to his side.

He continued his quest. "Not happening, Deuce."

The boy turned to glare at him. "I don't need any of your crap, Reaves. I've got it under control. I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

Dean rolled his eyes, threw another stone. "So what are you going to do about it, oh great Belac?"

Reaves stopped near him. "I don't know."

"Exactly." Dean yelled, turning to face the older boy. "You don't know!" He stepped forward. "You don't know anything!"

"We'll get him back," Caleb replied, quietly.

"Really?" Dean's lip trembled. "By 'we' do you mean Belac and Athewm? Astorim and Cam? Or maybe the fierce, indestructible Oh'nathan Jay? Because I didn't see any dragons back there, man. The King walked right into the castle and took everything."

"Dean…" Reaves took a step closer, but the younger man shoved him back.

"Don't!" The boy didn't stop there. He shoved him again, and Reaves let him. "You didn't do anything to stop him, Caleb! None of you did!" His father had signed papers!

Dean struck out then, hitting the psychic with a vicious right cross. The psychic staggered back, his hand going to his mouth. He tasted blood. _Damn it. _

He avoided the left hook, but the punch to the mid-section, nearly stole his breath. "None of the big, bad Brotherhood did one damn thing as that bastard took Sammy!" Dean was choking on sobs now, his swings not even having any real direction. "No dragons! No heroes! Nothing!"

Caleb took the punishment as long as his abused body would allow, but then he grabbed the kid's arms, restraining him the best he could. "I hate you! I hate all of you!" The kid yelled at him.

Reaves held on to him even as Dean continued to struggle, pummeling the other man with moves Reaves could have blocked in his sleep. Hell, he'd taught half of them to the pre-teen. "Deuce, stop it."

"He trusted you all. He trusted us…" Dean finally collapsed against the older man, and Caleb barely kept them both on their feet. "He trusted me…"

"Kid," Caleb sighed, gripping the boy's shoulders. "You did all you could do. Sammy knows that."

Dean looked up at him then, his eyes as pain-filled as Reaves had ever seemed them. "What's wrong with me?"

"What?" Caleb frowned. "Nothing's wrong with you."

Winchester shook his head. "I tried to get him to take me, too, Caleb. I would have done anything. But he didn't want me. I failed my brother…because I'm not good enough…"

Reaves cut him off with a hard shake. "Stop it. There is nothing wrong with you, Dean." A wave of fury rushed through the psychic. The idea of killing Conner once again seeming such a reasonable and satisfying solution to it all. "Do you understand me? Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. You."

The boy looked at him, his breath hitching, but he remained quiet.

"That old bastard doesn't even know you…or Sammy. He doesn't know shit." Dean was one of the bravest, most fearless, and self-sacrificing people he had ever known. "He doesn't deserve to have a grandson like you. You got it?"

"But he has Sammy." Dean took a deep breath, his voice breaking again. "I don't have a brother anymore."

Caleb swallowed thickly, pulling Dean against him, "Fuck, Deuce, you'll always have a brother." He squeezed the kid's neck, resting his chin atop his hair. "We'll get Sammy back. Whatever it takes."

"You swear?"

"I swear." Reaves pushed him away, holding him at arm's length so he could look him in the eye. "But if you ever hit me again, I will make you wish you were never born. Got it?"

A faint grin tugged at the kid's mouth. "Got it."

Reaves shook his head, wrapping one arm around his ribs and tossing the other across Dean's shoulders. "I should have let your Dad come and get his ass kicked."

"He would have seen that sucker punch coming from a mile away," Dean told him as they made their way towards the farm.

"Yeah, he'd have tossed your ass in the pond, too."

The kid nodded, going quiet for a moment. When he did speak again, Caleb had to strain to hear his words. "I'm really pissed at him."

Reaves sighed. "Join the club, kid."

Dean glanced up at him. "I guess even black dragons can be slain?"

"We all meet our St. George, kiddo." Caleb met his gaze, hating that emptiness he could see taking hold. "But didn't you know that old dragons come back? They rise from the ashes like a Phoenix, taking revenge on anyone and anything that hurt them or those they were trying to protect."

Dean raised a brow. "A black phoenix, huh?"

Reaves nodded. Why not? When one story was over, there was always room for a new book. "Yeah. Pretty fierce. And I hear those red and green fire birds are a force to be reckoned with, too."

A faint smile played at the corner of Dean's mouth, and a spark of hope ignited in his jade-like eyes. "I think Sammy would really like this new story."

Caleb laughed. "True. But where the hell are we going to find toy phoenixes?"

Dean shrugged, and his grin grew. "Not to mention making Barbie's dungeon dream home fire-proof. That'll be a bitch."

"Yeah, but you're forgetting that I'm a top-notch engineering student."

"Right." Dean met the other man's gaze again. "Now we just have to get your architect back and we'll be set." Nothing would be right again until Sam was back with him.

Reaves swallowed thickly, looking towards home. "Oh we'll get him back, Deuce…and burn a few bridges while we're at it."

_**Long ago, when man was young and the dragon already old, the wisest of our race took pity on man. **_

_**So he gathered together all the dragons, making them vow to watch over man always.**_

_**And at the moment of his death, the night became alive with those stars. **_

_**And thus was born the Dragons' Heaven.**_

_**But when we die, not all dragons are admitted to this shining place. No, we have to earn it!**_

_**And if we don't, our spirit disappears as if we never were.  
Draco in Dragonheart**_

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_a/n: First, never fear, it doesn't end here, I promise. This story has grown like all baby dragons tend to do, and now I'm finding it much too large to tell in one piece. Plus, I have dedicated my self to writing both a Thanksgiving story and a Christmas tale. So, Dragons will be continuing in _**On the Wings of a Phoenix** _coming in mid-January. It will pick up right where we left off without missing a beat, and I will tell you now I can't not do happy endings. I have not forgotten about Caleb's visions and that will come in to play very soon, as well as the reason as to why they are different and that he can't remember them. The boys are far from safe, I'm afraid, but with dragons and now the mighty phoenixes looking after them, all is not lost. Bg. _

_The Thanksgiving story will be posted this weekend, and I must tell you I am looking forward to the boys being older, and some good old hurt/comfort instead of all this mental anguish. Bg. It was beginning to depress me, and I know how it all ends. _

_Happy Thanksgiving to all those celebrating, and a big thank you to all who have read and reviewed. This story has become one of my favorites, and that has been due in part to all the kind words and flattering interest from the readers. _

_Last but not least, Tidia-my faithful friend and beta-thanks for coming through yet again, and making yourself available even on Holidays! You're awesome and you made this a much better story than I could have on my own. I can't believe it was months ago that you suggested the limo scene and the fight at the pond. Time flies. _


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